Terror Squadron
by Kenny's Friend
Summary: In the midst of the fight with the Yuzzhan Vong, a new group of elite fighters must rise to the aid in the conflict. The Galactic Alliance must halt the Vong advance at Naboo, or the galaxy will be that much closer to falling.
1. Dramatis Personae

_**New Republic Forces:**_

_Terror Squadron_ personnel

(1) – Commander Leroy Corsurge – (Human male from Corellia)  
(2) – (XO) Captain Dano Ven – (Human male from Kessel)  
(3) – Seth Joust – (Human male from Corellia)  
(4) – Croutz 'Rusty' Yuvahak – (Bothan male from Bothawui)  
(5) – Lieutenant Led Sketz – (Human male from Courascant)  
(6) – Teneniel Tyra – (Human female from Dathomir)  
(7) – Vick Fleen – (Human male from Tatooine)  
(8) – Farvebacca – (Wookiee male from Kaashyyyk)  
(9) – Lieutenant Cane Roulvecksch – (Shistavanen male from Uvena III)  
(10) – Sella Ruvek'astak – (Twi'lek female from Ryloth)  
(11) – Loreli d'Accorde – (Human female from Naboo)  
(12) – Kitsy Reaffe (Human female from Dantooine)

With the New Republic Military:

General Chad Hoffman; squadron director; _Kiss of Life_ – (Human male)  
Admiral Phillip Creel; _Kiss of Life _– (Human male)  
Admiral Traest Kre'frey; _Ralroost_ – (Bothan male)  
Han Solo; captain, _Millennium Falcon_ – (Human male)  
Princess Leia Organa Solo; diplomat – (Human female)  
Fyor Rodan; politician – (Human male) Cal Omas; chief of state – (Human male)  
Dif Scaur; director of intelligence – (Human male)  
General Wedge Antilles; _Lusankya_ – (Human male)  
Colonel Gavin Darklighter; _Rogue Squadron_ – (Human male)

The Jedi

Luke Skywalker; Jedi Master, _Twin Suns_ – (Human male)  
Mara Jade Skywalker; Jedi Master– (Human female)  
Jacen Solo; Jedi Knight – (Human male)  
Captain Jaina Solo; Jedi Knight, _Twin Suns_ – (Human female)  
Corran Horn; Jedi Knight, _Twin Suns_ – (Human male)  
Kyp Durron; Jedi Knight – (Human male)  
Cilghal; Jedi Healer – (Mon Calamari female)  
Tahiri Veila; Jedi Knight – (Human female)  
Lowbacca; Jedi Knight – (Wookiee male)  
Saba Sebatyne; Jedi Knight – (Barabel female)

_**Imperial Forces**_

Star Destroyer _Remnants_:  
Admiral Luden Tex – (Human male)  
Captain Carivel Dezzen – (Human male)  
Commander Sarah Cleff – (Human female)

Star Destroyer _Predator_:  
Admiral Di'Gen Fallington – (Human male)  
Captain Tighe Reynolds; _Alpha_ _Squadron_ – (Human male)

Super Star Destroyer _Right to Rule_:  
Grand Admiral Gilad Pallaeon – (Human male)

_**The Naboo**_

Queen Janitte – (Human female)  
Senator Kam Swenson – (Gungan male)  
Captain Bynuard; _Defender_ _Wing_ – (Human male)

_**Yuuzhan Vong**_

S'ajjen Kah; warrior – (male Yuuzhan Vong)  
Yousev D'gina; warrior – (male Yuuzhan Vong)  
Kuska Lah; shaper – (male Yuuzhan Vong)

* * *

**A/N:** _Terror Squadron_ takes place immediately following Enemy Lines II: Rebel Stand by Aaron Allston


	2. Chapter: 1

**Chapter: 1

* * *

**

From space, Tatooine was beautiful: a multicolored sphere of promise. "Cruelly disguised," some called it in bitter retrospect. Misleading.

Beneath the deceptive, atmospheric shroud lay a global landscape of endless sand and barren rock, bleached white from the desert planet's twin suns. It was a place where the heat of the day was unrelenting while the nights froze travelers' bones. Moisture was so sparse that it had to be coaxed from the air in order to adequately water crops and provide enough drinking water for the population to survive. Tightly built cities were hovels for criminal activity and the vast, sandy plains were left to wandering raiders and the desert creatures. As for the cloak the atmosphere provided, it was clear and breathable, beautiful to see if not to suffer.

Cruelly disguised. Misleading.

With stunning speed for atmospheric conditions, five A-Wing class starfighters hurtled through the cloudless sky. Air traffic was sparse above Tatooine; the majority of all incoming and departing vessels gravitated toward the major spaceports, as they were the most practical points of entry and departure. The presence of this portion of a fighter squadron 400 kilometers outside of Mos Eisely was relatively curious. But then the reason for their flight became apparent: eight wasp–like TIE Interceptors were hot in pursuit, falling from the sky and filling the gap between them and the smaller, wedge–shaped fighters with deadly flashes of green laser fire.

It was a chase, a deadly game of cat–and–mouse.

Down through the mesosphere and into the troposphere the pursuit continued. Kilometers passed in seconds. The bellies of the fighters scraped the dunes, raising clouds of sand from the rolling plains. Vivid emerald blasts arced toward the fleeing craft, undershooting their targets and melting sand into glass, but growing closer.

"We can't out–run them, Lead," Seth Joust said before he could stop himself.

A crackle of static preceded Commander Corsurge's clipped response. "That's very perceptive of you, Three."

Seth tightened his jaw involuntarily, closing down on an insubordinate retort. He felt his cheeks burning and silently praised the fact that he was invisible to his squadmates behind the simulator walls. But at the same time, he hated himself for being so easily humiliated because he knew he was better than that.

A twenty–two–year–old fighter jockey, he harbored no consideration for odds in any given scenario, and perhaps that was what made him, like most Corellians, such a remarkable pilot. Some might consider five on eight an unfair fight, possibly even the two other trainees flying as his wingmates, but Seth found himself writhing beneath the juvenile assignment.

And in his guts, he was righteously angry. Commander Corsurge doubted his abilities – despite the fact that Seth had proven his stature already. The _Loose Hand_ scenario might not have been the easiest in the sim library per se, but it certainly didn't have the steepest difficulty curve either. The sim's computer banks threw any number of objectives or enemies at them, and while the average pilot might have found the task daunting, Seth did not. After all, TIE Interceptors were largely articles of the past, military media generally flown by allies in this time of war – if at all. Instead of pitting the trainees against something much more formidable, something like the Yuzzhan Vong coralskippers – which they _would _ be meeting in combat – Commander Corsurge had the designated Green Squadron flying against brain–dead drones and aces from the Galactic Civil War, long since dead or retired.

_There's no point in flying antiquated missions,_ Seth rationalized, not for the first time, wincing as verdant flashes of light burned away the dust beneath them. _It's only teaching us how to fight computers._

Abruptly: "Your home planet's beautiful, Four."

That was Dano Ven, the squadron's executive officer. His voice was passive, unreadable, yet his small talk seemed out of place with laser fire exploding all around them.

"Thanks, Two," Vick Fleen, Green Four, responded without any real gratitude. The boy had been born in the wastes, according to the bio–logs, raised by his widower father in caves not far from Mos Eisely. Vick's A-Wing hung several meters behind Seth's, flying port–flank in the Greens' imprecise arrowhead formation.

"Great for a tan," the boy added a moment later.

"So I've heard," Dano replied mildly.

Their brief conversation ended with empty comm silence – interrupted by screaming laser fire, framed by the monotonous thrum of their engines.

Finally, Seth could hold his tongue no longer. "Orders, Lead?"

For a moment, the commander didn't say anything, and Seth thought that perhaps Corsurge wasn't going to answer. That would be just like him, too: keep them all in the dark until the last possible second, hurl no–win options at them, expect them to react like the amateurs they no longer were.

_Well, maybe Fleen or the Wookiee will panic, _Seth thought grimly, twisting his lips in mild aggravation. _But not me._

Commander Corsurge spoke abruptly, silencing Seth's inner voice. "We'll use the ridge up ahead. It should be showing up on your sensors right about now."

There was an audible _blip _in his headset, and Seth saw the sketch of an uneven cliff face stretch across the A-Wing monitor. Out the viewport, the sandy plains cut off abruptly and a yawning canyon split the topography like a massive battle scar. Closer was the climbing rise of limestone and bedrock, a virtual wall sliding along the squadron's port side, blasted white from sandstorms and exposure to the sun. The wedge–shaped shadows of the snubfighters flickered across the dazzling surface, fleeing laserfire as it drilled smoking holes in the dunes.

"Throttles to full," Corsurge ordered. "Shift power from weapons to engines. Two?"

"At your disposal, Lead," Dano replied, with a hint of innocent sarcasm lightening his tone.

_Always the wise–ass,_ Seth thought. In spite of his irritation, the corners of his mouth quirked upward.

"Take Four and Five with you and get the squints to follow you into the canyon. Three and I will cut around this rock formation and ambush them from behind. Make sure you start jamming their sensors once you break the ridge. Got all that?"

A double comm click indicated an affirmative. Captain Ven's A-Wing shot ahead, closely followed by Greens Four and Five – respectively Fleen and Farvebacca, the Wookiee.

"Two–Flight, away," Dano reported.

Corsurge's A-Wing leapt ahead. "On me, Three," he ordered.

As Seth closed formation with Corsurge, the commander triggered his cannons, tracing black char lines along the craggy rock sailing by to port. Soot erupted into a thick cloud as the sand superheated, instantly eclipsing both A-Wings from view. The dust would only hide them from the Interceptors' sensors for fifteen seconds at best, but by then, Seth and Corsurge would be on the other side of the ridge, shielded completely by the natural barrier. Assuming the squints (pilot slang for the Interceptors) were older models and lacked threat displays, they would be caught completely off–guard.

But sometimes the sim threw curve balls.

Seth cut his throttle and rolled the control stick to port, following Commander Corsurge's A-Wing as it cut a sharp arc through a narrow split in the rock walls. The whining pitch of the fighter's engines became a groan of protest at the tight maneuver as Seth and Corsurge blasted through the sandy crevice, throwing dirt and grit in all directions. Through the thick cloud of earth and dust, Seth could barely see the commander's A-Wing as it looped back around toward the unsuspecting TIE Interceptors, but the flickering blimp on his sensor board remained strong. Seconds later, they roared out of the cloud together.

Just ahead and below them now, the Interceptors continued on their flight path unawares, hawks closing for the kill. Further ahead, Dano, Fleen, and Farvebacca's A-Wings slid smoothly into gorge one–by–one, leading the unfriendlies on. The ambush would come from behind.

"Take point, Three," Corsurge ordered. His green–trimmed A-Wing lost some of its velocity as its pilot cut throttle. He sank back into Watcher position, several meters to Seth's aft, giving the younger pilot the go–ahead. "Sensors are clean from behind, but I'll keep tight in case you need cover fire."

"Obliged, Lead." Seth thumbed his lasers to dual–fire mode, linking both of the A-Wing's cannons to a simultaneous cycle.

_Showtime,_ he thought.

The Interceptors blasted into the canyon, still in pursuit of the other A-Wings – now far ahead of them and invisible to the naked eye. Seconds later, Corsurge and Seth dropped their fighters into the gorge and followed, gaining on their unsuspecting quarries.

"Trench run," Corsurge grunted in Seth's headset. "Ever hear of the Death Star, Three?"

On either side of them, the walls of the canyon sped by as dizzying blurs of tan and grey. The rounded a bend at lightning speed, and there were the wasp–like Interceptors again, having decelerated to cruising speed and broken formation to safely navigate the narrow gorge. They were flying in single–file now, patiently waiting for their prey to make the next move.

There would only be a few seconds before the rearmost squint's peripheral sensors distinguished them from the cliff face. Seth dropped the aiming crosshairs onto the straggling Interceptor's engine housing and cut his throttle to match his target's velocity. Sensor feed splashed inessential details of the enemy fighter over the readout monitor: wingspan, capacity, weight, model number, weaponry, and freight – data retrieved in real–time. Seth glanced at the sensor board, noted the distance was twenty meters and closing, and waited for the tone that would indicate a laser lock.

"Fire at will," Corsurge said.

The squint's nose came up –

The Heads–Up–Display flashed red and he got the tone, so Seth pulled the trigger twice. Four scarlet bolts fired in rapid succession danced about the nimble squint's frame, melting away chunks of its hull. Seth snapped off another double–burst of fire, then had to kick the A-Wing into a climb to dodge the flaming wreckage of the Interceptor. He spared a glance out the rear viewport to glimpse the chunks of twisted metal careen off the canyon walls behind them.

"Three confirms a kill," he said, facing back forward. "Scratch one squint!"

"Good shooting, Three," Corsurge praised in an emotionless voice. "Cover me and I'll make a pass."

Seth killed some of his thrust and let the commander's A-Wing shoot overtop of his own. He watched the A-Wing's battle–scarred underbelly critically as Corsurge opened fire on the closest Interceptor, which had already begun the climb out of the canyon. The commander's lasers punctured the stabilizer supports on the larger fighter, leaving black char on the backside of the ball cockpit. The Interceptor shuddered under impact and lost some of its velocity, but managed to maintain its climb, trailing acrid smoke. The other squints careened off in different directions – rising up and out of the canyon, which was a virtual deathtrap.

Corsurge swore in a language foreign to Seth's ears. "I got a trifle sloppy here, Three. Form up on me and let's take these bastards out of action. Don't straggle!"

"Roger that, Lead," Seth grunted, fighting to keep frustration from bleeding into his words.

For a veteran like Corsurge, that shot should have been simple, like shooting mynocks in a barrel: another kill to paint on the side of his fighter. But just like this sham of a sim run, the commander's actions were just another calculating test.

Seth pushed aside his aggravation. _No time for that now. Stick to the mission._

The commander fired for a second time, this time boring laser fire directly through the cockpit of the wounded Interceptor, slagging its twin ion engines in the process. Seth quickly raised a gloved hand to shield his eyes as the fighter blossomed into a swollen fireball, like a vibrant Mrlssi carnation. Shrapnel pinged off their shields as they knifed through the center of the nova and maintained their trajectory down the canyon.

Dano's voice broke through the comm, dripping with his accustomed sarcasm: "This is Green Two. Looks like plan 'A' failed, boss."

Over the comm and from somewhere above them, Seth could hear the hissing of laser fire; craning his neck, he glimpsed the other A-Wings flashing past above the canyon – headed in the opposite direction, already engaging the enemy fighters.

"Stay with me, Three." Corsurge pushed his fighter into a steep climb, which carried it up and out of the narrow canyon, and Seth immediately hauled back on the flight stick to follow. As they rose, he looked out the viewport, easily finding the other A-Wings – black specks against the golden sand.

"What's plan 'B', Lead?" Dano wanted to know.

"Just stay alive, Green Group." Corsurge's humor came clipped so severely that Seth wondered if it had been intended as such in the first place.

Dano snorted. "The usual eh?"

"No unnecessary chatter, Two."

"Apologies, Lead." The words lacked sincerity.

Corsurge and Seth rose together and wove in a tight u–turn as the remaining six Interceptors regrouped several hundred feet above them, then dove in formation. As they fell from the sky, the squints opened fire once more on the A-Wings.

"Scatter," Dano calmly ordered his Flight.

Fleen acknowledged with, "As ordered", and Farvebacca growled something that what was open for anyone's interpretation.

"Break, Three," Corsurge said in tandem, peeling his A-Wing away from Seth's as green fire filled the sky in front of them.

"Roger that, Lead."

The five Republic fighters parted ways, leading the Interceptors to also break formation in order to continue the pursuit.

Seth allowed one of the squints to drop onto his tail, teasing it to advance, then goosed his throttle forward. Laser fire lashed past his fighter as he rolled out prematurely, allowing the bolts to pass by on either side of the A-Wing, and then hauled back on the flightstick, pointing the nose of his snubfighter at the blinding suns. He heard the scream of ion engines behind him, knew the squint was following sluggishly, then flipped the fighter onto its side and cut his throttle.

The squint pilot couldn't compensate without the risk of tearing his fighter to pieces: the less–than–aerodynamic design of the solar panel wings created too much drag even in Tatooine's thin atmosphere. Caught off–guard, the squint quickly jerked his fighter into an awkward descent.

_Startled, so he jumped._

But in the back of his mind, Seth knew that it was fake – that the simulator computer was just randomizing, forcing Seth to stay sharp. He dove after the squint and opened fire, spraying the air behind his target with crimson laser fire.

Dano's voice broke through the comm. "Got one."

Seth allowed himself a quick glance out of the rear viewport and glimpsed the captain's A-Wing knifing through the center of an expanding fireball. Fleen and Farvebacca had formed up on him and were once more flying in close formation. Their precision was almost professional.

Grinning, Seth returned his attention to his target, only to find that it had slipped off to his port side in the brief moment that he'd been distracted. It had now taken up the sleeper position just aft of Seth's fighter, slowing enough to drop back in on the A-Wing's tail –

Seth swore. The other pilot had cut his fighter's throttle and was taking advantage of the A-Wing's speed and allowing Seth gain the lead, waiting for just the right moment to pour green fire into the smaller snubfighter's engines. Lasers sizzled off his shields as the squint boosted its throttle and came up on his tail.

_And you were trying to make a point._

Seth cursed quietly, fumbling with the controls. With his left hand he transferred deflector shield power from starboard side to rear, and with his right he chopped the control stick down and to the right.

But he had acted without thinking. Agile though it was, the A-Wing couldn't compensate for the turn while fighting the wind. The engines coughed, then stalled, throwing the fighter off–balance. Seth felt the world spinning as the A-Wing careened wildly in free–fall, spinning end over end above the dunes.

_Friction could rip me apart –_

He slammed the emergency restart switch and the engines roared back to life, plastering him to his seat. Darkness crept into the edges of his vision as he fought the increased gravity in the A-Wing and frantically attempted to regain control of the fighter. He heard voices in his ear – the Greens calling for him – but couldn't make out what they were saying.

Out the viewport, the ridge was rising ominously out of the sand – closer and closer. Numbers on the HUD scrolled down toward zero as the mountain of sand filled the viewport. Collision alarms blared in his earpiece –

Grinding his teeth, Seth grasped the flight stick in both hands and hauled back with all of his strength. The nose of his fighter came up and the cockpit was suddenly full of sky once more as the fighter rocketed into the pale blue heavens. Seth swore he could hear sand and rocks scraping the A-Wing's belly as it climbed, and then he was safely evening out his trajectory, a hundred meters or more above the cliff face.

His adversary, however, was not as fortunate. The squint, which had closely followed his descent, pouring laser fire down on him, couldn't pull up in time. Engines screaming, the Interceptor slammed into the bedrock and exploded upon impact, hurling earth in all directions.

_Too close,_ Seth thought, running a quick diagnostic check of the fighter's engines and sublight systems. Everything checked out, although at some point in free–fall, the computer had reset the inertial dampener automatically in an attempt to keep the fighter pilot conscious.

"Nice maneuver, Three, but I'd suggest _not_ trying again." Dano's tone was enough to kill the premature sense of victory blossoming in Seth's gut.

The younger pilot felt himself blushing again as he dialed back the compensator and settled back into the command couch. "Sorry, Two," he said into the headset, fighting to keep anger out of his voice. "I'll do better."

"Roger that. Just remember that next time w–"

Seth missed the continuation of Dano's admonition: another of the squints had singled him out and was diving, cannons singing. The TIE's lasers ate up the sand around the fighter, hissing angrily at the lack of more substantial prey.

Seth throttled back to full speed and rocketed out of the squint's line of fire. Laser fire chewed rock, but found no purchase on the nimble A-Wing's hull. Executing a sloppy loop–de–loop, Seth brought the fighter around to face the TIE. The interceptor shot directly for him, cannons still pumping.

The frown was crawling over his face without conscious effort. Either the computerized pilot rocketing toward him was a complete idiot, or he was really, _really_ good. Nine out of ten times, a TIE of any class would not survive a head–to–head against a fully shielded A-Wing with a sturdier hull.

_And speaking of shields…_

Seth glanced at his monitor and saw that his shield percentage had decreased by fifteen percent under the squint's withering barrage. Transferring deflector strength from aft to fore, he settled into the collision vector, letting his thumb hover over the trigger.

He kept the fighter dancing, weaving and juking as the Interceptor stubbornly refused to break off its attack. Seth let the A-Wing climb several degrees as he thumbed a concussion missile into the launch tube, then painted the closing TIE's hull with the crosshairs. The moment the lock tone sounded, he hit the trigger and instantly pulled the A-Wing into a steep climb.

A single column of red hellfire erupted from the nose of his fighter and flashed across the sand, seeking its target without deviating. The Interceptor immediately broke into a roll to evade, but was barely halfway through the maneuver before the missile punched cleanly through it like a tin can. The fighter detonated with a satisfying _boom,_ sending flaming debris in all directions.

Seth grinned in satisfaction, but the look vanished instantly. More laser fire was exploding to his starboard side, and there were green darts eating away at the exposed metal of his starboard fuselage. Blackened craters trailed smoke as Seth jinked the A-Wing to get out of the line of fire. Cursing himself for being so careless, he quickly evened his deflector shields to cover the entire body of the fighter –

Another alarm was blaring, indicating that the main power coupling had been damaged. With that crucial piece of his A-Wing nonfunctional, Seth knew it would be too much to hope to stay in the fight for much longer. He could already feel the fighter shuddering as he lost velocity.

"_Sithspawn_!" he swore. "Three has a tail."

With one hand he slammed a switch on the control panel to kill the alarm, and with the other, hauled the flight stick to port, simultaneously stomping on the rudder to roll the A-Wing over – so that the squint's next burst of fire sizzled nothing but open air.

Vick Fleen's voice in the headset: "Four is on the way, Three – hang in there!"

Seth fled before the Interceptor, still cursing himself as Vick closed in on his target. The dots on the sensor board corresponding to Fleen's A-Wing and the squint converged, and Seth glanced out the rear viewport as he heard the scream of laserfire. The TIE had already begun to roll out under the barrage, but not before Fleen's lasers chewed sizzling holes into its starboard solar panel. The larger craft shuddered, trailing smoke from the destroyed panel as its pilot fought the wind to climb above the barrage.

Fleen's distraction allowed Seth the moment he needed to recover. He let his foot ride the rudder lightly, slewing the fighter into a lazy curve as the squint broke its pursuit to deal with Fleen. Working quickly, Seth reduced his thrust by 20% and shut off the A-Wing's threat display in order to conserve as much power as possible – hopefully just enough to let him finish out the dogfight. The red warning light on the control panel told him the fighter was steadily losing power despite his efforts, but he ignored it. If worse came to worst, he could siphon power from his deflector shields or lasers to his engines, or even cut his sensors and fly blind.

_All of a sudden this became more challenging._

"Drive him to me, Four," he said into the comm, grinning roguishly. "I'll pin him down."

"Roger that."

Riding the squint's tail tightly, Vick dropped the A-Wing nearly to the sand and pulled the trigger. The majority of his shots flew wide of the target, but a single scarlet needle scored a glancing hit on the TIE's underbelly, raining a shower of sparks and shrapnel onto the sand below. It wasn't enough for a kill, but the squint was suddenly leaking what appeared to be hydraulic fluid from its rent belly, meaning it would soon become impossible for it to maneuver.

Seth's flight path had brought him back within range, high above Green Four and their wounded target. Spitting the Interceptor with the crosshairs, he dove, squeezing the trigger to unleash a double burst of fire directly into the squint's cockpit –

The TIE rolled over lazily, early enough that Seth's shots only scored sand. For a moment, he thought maybe the simulator had hiccupped – how the squint had survived a barrel roll with a mangled solar panel in a planet's atmosphere was inconceivable. The maneuver should have torn the craft apart. Seth pulled up out of his roll and circled back around, checking all his monitors for inconsistencies in the programming, but detected no anomalies.

Ahead of him now, Fleen fired again, but his lasers merely stabbed through open air where the squint had been moments before: the pilot had killed his thrust again and dropped several meters out of the sky. The squint throttled back up, rolling onto its damaged solar panel to expose less of a target, and Vick's next few bursts all went wide on either side of the fighter.

Unperturbed, Fleen rolled his A-Wing over onto its port stabilizers, mimicking the squint's maneuver. Pumping fire into the dying craft's rear, he finally scored the engines directly. The resulting explosion engulfed the cockpit, and the TIE detonated spectacularly.

"That's a kill!" Fleen crowed, his voice full of boyish excitement.

"Good shooting, Four," Seth said, glancing over the A-Wing's monitor where angry red text informed him of his fighter's degenerating condition. "Stay close to me – I can't last much longer. Lost a power coupling."

"Roger that, Three."

They veered their fighters back toward the remaining TIEs and the rest of the Greens as they combated, barely four klicks away.

Dano Ven's voice filled their ears as they rose above the ridge and descended into the valley. "Leader? Two. Casualties?"

"We are negative for casualties, Two," Corsurge replied, and his voice seemed to have shed some of its stern quality in the light of current success.

Seth allowed a touch of cockiness to enter his voice as he reset his lasers to single–fire mode. "Let's keep it that way then, Lead."

"My sensors are telling me you're in bad shape, Three," Corsurge returned without acknowledging the pledge. "Can you hold out or do you need to put down?"

_Another test, perhaps?_ Seth clicked his comm twice, ready to impress the commander. He hated to kiss–ass, but apparently that was the only language Corsurge would understand. "Affirmative, Lead."

"Four, cover Three," Corsurge ordered. "Bear point seven–six–oh and hold. Be prepared to cover for us."

A Wookiee growl pulsated through the comm, momentarily deafening them. Farvebacca stood his A-Wing on its starboard s–foil and spat laser fire into his target's thruster wash, but the squint shuddered violently as it simply dropped dead in mid–air. Farvebacca's thrust jostled the craft further as the surprised Wookiee shot past, but the TIE pilot managed to throttle back to full and dropped onto Farvebacca's tail.

"Reverse throttle hop – watch yourself, Five," Corsurge cautioned. "Four, what did he just call me?"

"He was just venting frustration, sir," Fleen replied with a laugh full of static. "He says the squint's good."

The Wook was good too, Seth had to give him that. From their Watcher position, the young pilot watched as Farvebacca kicked his A-Wing into a wide turn around an outcropping of rocks, catching the squint off–guard around the other side. The Interceptor veered to avoid the rocky spire, hesitating just long enough to allow Farvebacca to get back on its tail.

Dano and Corsurge shot past the Wookiee and overtop the squint in close formation, solely to pin the fighter to ground–level and allow Farvebacca the pleasure of the kill. The simple fact that they were holding back again sparked irritation in Seth's guts, but he kept himself from commenting.

– and there was the last surviving Interceptor, rising beyond the ridge and advancing quickly on his endangered comrade's position.

Vick had spotted it too. "Lead? Four. Permission to engage the hostile?"

"Granted, Four. Throttle up and aid Five. Three, stay with him and keep an eye on that engine of yours."

"Affirmative, Lead." Seth nudged the throttle and sped up to keep with Fleen's flight path. Several klicks to their starboard, Dano matched Commander Corsurge's vector as the squad leader maintained steady surveillance of the chase.

The Wookiee opened fire into his target's wake, but the squint had jinked port before Farvebacca even snapped off a shot. He barked a threat over the comm as he ruddered the A-Wing's nose to port in pursuit. The chase was picking up speed with no obstacles to prohibit low flying. The canyon was far behind them now.

"Translation, Four?" Corsurge asked, in relation to the Wookiee's garbled statement.

"The equivalent of a swear word in Basic." Fleen allowed a sharp snort of laughter. He was hanging high over Seth's starboard s-foil as his counterpart closed on the squint tailing Farvebacca. "Shall I repeat it, Lead?"

Corsurge's voice was gruff as it returned. "Not necessary, Four."

Due to a lifelong affiliation with Farvebacca, Vick was the only one in the fledgling squadron who was able to understand the Wookiee. Until the Farvebacca got his paws on a translator droid, the rest of the pilots would continue to rely on Fleen to understand what the Wookiee was saying.

"Gotcha," Seth muttered, painting the advancing squint with his crosshairs and squeezing the trigger. It was a direct hit: the fighter ignited and fell from the sky with a concussive _boom_.

"Good shot, Three," Fleen praised.

Dano's voice: "Alright, Five – put him out of his misery."

The Wookiee's agreeable roar warranted no translation.

_And hurry, _Seth thought, glancing at the A-Wing's grim status reports. _I can't keep this piece of junk flying much longer._ His dying engines had lost thirty–nine percent operating capacity – so much velocity that he could no longer keep up with Vick or the Wookiee. Instead, he dropped back to pace with Corsurge and the XO.

Several kilometers ahead of them, the squint pilot killed his thrust and began swinging his interceptor around for one last pass at the five A-Wings. Whether he just wanted to end it all or simply hadn't realized that he was on his own, it didn't matter.

Farvebacca's A-wing spat four double–bursts of laser fire, and the TIE exploded before it had a chance to fully come about. One of the solar panels managed to survive the blast; it cart–wheeled over and over across the sand dunes, finally coming to rest almost a full kilometer away. The wreckage settled into the sand, smoking.


	3. Chapter: 2

**Chapter: 2

* * *

**

Farvebacca's triumphant crow was cut off abruptly as the A-Wing simulator cracked open and the headset died with the rest of the power. Lights blinked on to illuminate the interior of the lifelike cockpit – command couch, LED screens, surrounding control panels.

For a moment, Seth remained seated, blinking in the sudden light, and then reached up to hoist himself out of the simulator's belly. He sat on the lip of the pseudo–fighter's cockpit for a moment to remove his headset, relishing the cool air in the training bay.

Below, a smattering of peer applause clattered weakly beneath the thrum of the Mon Calamari cruiser's powerful engines. The _Kiss of Life_ was their home: she was a gigantic planetoid for all intents and purposes, possessing a crew of well over four thousand and housing for time and again, not to mention a hangar with the capacity for three full squadrons. The Green Squad cadets had only rendezvoused with the Fleet a week prior, and it had not been easy to navigate the spreading network of Vong–conquered space in order to reach their comrades unscathed. There had been more than several close calls, but luckily there had been no engagements and no casualties as a result.

Seth swung his legs over the edge of the sim and found the top rungs of the ladder with his feet. He climbed down quickly as the other four simulators cracked opened and the other pilots of Green Squadron emerged.

Two people met him at the base of the ladder.

The first was Lieutenant Cane Roulvecksch, a Shistavanen. He was barely 5 feet tall, but his stature lost a good six inches to the reverse–knee joints in his canine legs. The wolfman was a brilliant mathematician, Seth knew, and he was maintaining the training stats of the squadron's pilots. His lupine jaw hung open in a smile, not easily distinguished from a snarl, as Seth stepped off the last rung and offered a casual salute.

The Shistavanen was accompanied by Led Sketz, a thickly–set man from Courascant, clad in a green flightsuit. He was a skilled pilot, a natural leader, and possessed an intimate knowledge of snubfighter tactics. From what Seth had learned of the man, Led had spent the majority of his young adulthood working on the Empire's defense grids, some of which still hung above Courascant despite lack of use. As the Galactic Civil War had unfolded, Led had defected to the Alliance for reasons as yet unknown.

"Nice one," the Courascanti congratulated by way of greeting, grinning widely. Scraggly bangs danced over his forehead whenever he moved. "Can't say I've ever flown _Loose Hand_ without losing comrades."

Cane's flightsuit was casually unzipped, almost to his belly. He raked talons over the exposed pelt of his chest as he spoke. "Speaking of which, I don't think I thanked you for abandoning me above Mos Eisley the last time we flew it together."

Led shrugged. "Seemed to me like you were in command of the situation, Lieutenant."

Cane snorted a laugh. His voice was a guttural rasp of canine snarl mixed with a snake's hiss; it sent a shiver of Seth's spine every time they spoke. "With four squints all over me like drool on a Hutt?"

The rest of the pilots were exiting their simulators and converging on the spot where the three of them stood. The Wookiee, Farvebacca, ignored the access ladder entirely and instead leapt the ten feet to the deck, landing in a predatory crouch. He stood easily two heads taller than Seth when he rose to his full height, and was covered head–to–toe in a silver–brown tangle of matted fur. How he managed to squeeze his long, fluid body into the simulator was a miracle in and of itself.

Vick Fleen, the Wookiee's wingmate, was short and scrawny – especially in comparison to the massive behemoth, who considered himself the boy's brother. Fleen brushed sandy locks of hair out of his youthful eyes and grinned around lopsidedly at his fellow squadmates. His thin face had not yet lost the naïve look of adolescence.

Forever smiling at some jest, Captain Dano Ven scratched at the thin scar below his left eye and nodded his approval at Seth as he approached. The captain was tall and extremely thin. His unusually pale countenance would have suggested illness, but his strong personality and flying abilities left no one questioning his fitness for duty.

_Nice one_, the XO mouthed in Seth's direction, and the younger pilot offered a return nod of thanks.

Commander Leroy Corsurge was shorter than both Dano and Seth, but his physical stature was not what made him intimidating. Piercing eyes, broad shoulders, and a confident gait accomplished that. His face was tight and perpetually grim, wrinkled at the eyes and creased at the forehead. His graying hair stood on end from the simulator's headset, but instead of having a comical affect, it seemed somehow distinguishing.

Removing his pilot gloves, he stepped into the circle of pilots and paused to pop a piece of synthetic gum into his mouth before looking to Cane for the assessment of the mission. "Give us the numbers, Lieutenant," he said, smiling slightly.

Every squadron had different methods of scoring, but the point system Cane and the commander had established was nothing more than a basic grading rubric. Each pilot started the sim run with fifty points. For each kill, two hundred points were awarded. For precision flying, anywhere from fifty to five hundred points were awarded. If a pilot was vaped, he lost all of his standing points, save for those awarded by kills. Scores carried over from previous sim flights for an averaged total, and the general consensus amongst the growing squadron was that the winner that day always bought the drinks.

Cane unplugged a datapad from an outlet in the wall and briefly studied the screen before speaking. "Excellent hunting, Lead," he began.

"Seemed like _we_ were the ones being hunted," Vick Fleen muttered under his breath.

"No loss of life and all eight targets neutralized," Cane continued, oblivious. "Due to lack of friendly casualties, a bonus of one hundred points will be added to each kill and accredited to the pilot who claims them. For this run, Seth has three kills; Farve has one; Vick, one; Captain Ven, one; and Commander Corsurge, one."

Growling something incoherent, Farvebacca extended a tree–trunk arm and cuffed Seth on the back of the head.

"Come again?" Seth asked, massaging the back of his head and blinking to clear his vision.

"Good job and watch out next time," Fleen replied for the Wookiee, leaning casually against the simulator he had used.

"Hang on," Dano interrupted before Seth could reply. "That leaves one kill unaccounted for – the one Seth took down with his unnecessary acrobatics. How does that affect the point spread?"

Cane grinned at the captain, then at Seth. "There are two ways this could go, gentlemen. First, it can be accredited as a kill to Seth, but attached with it will come the Novice's Shame because he didn't actually fire a shot at that particular squint."

Led Sketz released an exaggerated moan, and the rest of the pilots shook their heads in sympathy. Seth felt his face heating up, and he quickly avoided Dano's patronizing look as the captain fought to keep a straight face.

"Second," Cane continued, "We can discount it as a simulator self–kill, but that would negate the survival bonus for everyone because that means that not all targets were actively neutralized."

There was a moment of silence as all eyes turned to rest on Seth. The decision would be his ultimately, although it was obvious which route he would be expected to take.

"C'mon, Seth," Led said in a simpering tone. "Take one for the team, buddy."

The others murmured their support, and – left with no alternative – Seth nodded jerkily. The Novice would take at least five more sim runs to counteract, but this way he wouldn't throw off anyone's scoring out of pride over his own record. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Commander Corsurge's silent, approving gaze.

"So be it." Cane consulted his datapad once again. "Then here are the total scores for this mission. Out of a possible maximum of 3000 points, Seth has been awarded 2896 points; Vick, 2797; Commander Corsurge, 2000; Captain Ven, 1999; and Farve, 1954. These will be tallied along with your standing scores from previous sim runs." He punched several buttons on his datapad, then looked up again, his teeth bared in a ferocious smile. "Looks like this puts you in the lead anyway, Seth."

Seth smiled, still embarrassed but relieved that no lasting damage had been done. "What can I say?" he asked casually, offering a mild shrug.

"Finally someone's beating Captain Ven," Vick Fleen said with a grin, clapping a hand on Seth's shoulder.

"Only by sixty–eight points," Cane interjected, tapping a button on his datapad to verify.

"Plus, Seth's got some exercising to do now," Led added smugly.

Dano formed a blaster with his thumb and forefinger. "Ahhh, I say we kill him now anyway. Just to be safe."

"No, sir – we should wait until he buys us expensive drinks tonight," Vick suggested, and Farvebacca chuffed a wolfish laugh.

Led nodded agreeably. "Something Hutts _wouldn't_ drink this time, if you please."

Seth held up his hands. "Hang on there, Led. You know the rules – no fly, no buy. Sorry."

Captain Ven had been the first to put it that way: since there were only five A-Wing simulators available on the _Kiss of Life_, several someones were always left out. Therefore, the winner of the day wasn't obligated to buy drinks for any non–participants.

Corsurge cleared his throat pointedly, and the Greens immediately fell silent. "Great job Seth, everyone," the commander said as they all turned to face him, standing at ease. He gave Seth a firm nod of approval, then clapped his hands together. "We'll break for dinner, so go freshen up and get something to eat. We'll decide who sits out the next run based on scoring. Dismissed."

The pilots began filing out of the training bay with Dano in the lead, but Seth made no move to follow them. Vick Fleen stopped to wait for him, but Seth waved the smaller man on without looking at him. He inhaled deeply through his nose, clasping his hands tightly behind his back and preparing what he wanted to say.

In the back of his mind, he found a nettling worry that maybe he was being unfair. But in the forefront, he knew Commander Corsurge was being unfair as well. By refusing to recognize his skill as a pilot, Corsurge was slowing him down, keeping him from getting _better_. Seth knew the value of training as much as the next pilot, not to mention the importance of constant practice to learn and correct weaknesses. But this was not training. This was babysitting.

He set his jaw.

Commander Corsurge, who had been conversing with Cane about the scores, finally noticed that Seth had not moved. There was something in the veteran's dark eyes, a knowing look that Seth couldn't fully decipher as the commander met and held his gaze.

"You need to speak with me, Mr. Joust?" he asked briskly.

Seth swallowed hard, sweating beneath his flightsuit as he snapped a smart salute, but he refused to let unease keep him from speaking his mind. "If you wouldn't mind, sir."

Corsurge nodded at Cane. "We'll finish this discussion presently, Lieutenant. Meet me in my office in twenty minutes. That will be all."

The Shistavanen saluted the commander, grinned at Seth in passing, and then exited the training bay after the rest of the Greens. Once the wolfman had gone, Corsurge turned back to Seth. His face was not as severe as it usually seemed – perhaps due to the successful sim run.

"At ease, Mr. Joust. What's on your mind?"

Seth folded his hands at his waist and relaxed his shoulders. _Here goes nothing._ He said: "Permission to speak freely, sir?"

Corsurge folded his arms over his chest, like he was bracing himself, and nodded. "Granted."

Seth swallowed again, nervously. "Sir, I don't think you're giving me a fair chance."

The commander arched an eyebrow. "Oh? I was under the impression that I was treating everyone equally. What's troubling you?"

Seth floundered for the right words, hating his lack of spine. _It sounded so good when I was _thinking_ it_. "Well, I saw how you and Captain Ven were flying during the run, sir, and I… You weren't really giving the mission your all. I could tell you were holding back, sir."

"And this bothers you why, Mr. Joust?" the commander asked, knitting his brow. "Dano and I have been flying snubfighters practically all of our lives. Competitive though we may be, neither of us really needs to rack up extra kills in the sims. The point of these training exercises is to give you younger pilots the opportunity to prove yourselves as well as to learn from your mistakes. I'm not sure I see your point, Mr. Joust."

"Well that's just it, sir – I think that I've proven myself already." Seth began speaking faster, warming to the material. "Back there in the canyon, you could have easily killed that squint, but you chose to let it alert the rest of his Flight, thus complicating the situation."

Corsurge lifted his chin, rocking back on his heels. "Guilty as charged, Mr. Joust – I _did_ do that deliberately to see how you would handle the situation. Contrary to what you – or we – may like think, Captain Ven and I aren't flawless. We _do_ make mistakes. I tested you, sure – to see how you would react. What if that happens for real and you have to take command for me? Granted, there was room for improvement, but I thought you reacted reasonably well. Forgive me, but I still don't see your problem with this."

_Actually, I'm not seeing it either at the moment._ Seth bit his lower lip, frustrated for more reasons than one. "Sir, I just think that you don't need to test me that way anymore. I think I'm ready for more –"

"Mr. Joust, need I remind you that just because your name is on the roster doesn't mean you're a permanent member of this squadron yet." The way Corsurge said it released a trickle of ice water into Seth's guts. "And you will forgive me for setting you right, but it is my ongoing _job_ as commander of this squadron to test all of my pilots at whatever level I so choose. I don't care if you can vape a Star Destroyer or a Vong worldship by yourself, Seth. I will still continue to test your abilities."

There was painful silence for a long moment, and then commander sighed. Looking the younger pilot in the eye, he pressed a hand against his breastbone and continued. "I understand your frustration, I really do. Being subordinate to someone is never easy, no matter their ability as a leader. If you feel that I am testing you too much, then I'll let up a little and let you manage things on your own. However, understand that the moment you slip up, I _will_ hold you responsible for your actions and you _will_ suffer the consequences. Do I make myself clear?"

Seth swallowed, harder this time. "Yes, sir."

"Just remember: in warfare there are no second chances." Corsurge's eyes had an unusual light to them all of a sudden, wistful nostalgia – or maybe sadness inspired by the years and the setting in which they found themselves. "One slip and you could be space dust. My job is to train you to fend for yourself so that you stay living and breathing, ready to fight another day."

He held Seth's gaze for a moment longer. "Is there anything else, Mr. Joust?"

He was sure there was, but Seth shook his head in the negative. "No, sir."

The commander smiled as he came to attention to salute the younger pilot. "I understand you have some drinks to purchase, Mr. Joust. Dismissed."

* * *

The office door slid open, admitting Leroy Corsurge and Dano Ven.

Corsurge's living quarters aboard _Kiss of Life_ were a simple affair. Room 112 consisted of a moderately sized office space blended with a sitting room, a tiny bedroom, and a small refresher. While rather cramped, the suite was good enough for Leroy, who had never been one for extensive finery or an overabundance of space. In a way, he almost craved the claustrophobic cockpit of his snubfighter even when he was without.

The commander seated himself behind his desk and set his datapad onto its naked surface. Dano put his back against the bulkhead wearily and folded his arms over his chest, waiting for Leroy to speak.

It was a moment before the commander did. There had been something he wanted to say, something he'd intended to discuss with the XO, but it had slipped his mind. He paused a moment to gather his thoughts, covering his senior moment by pulling up files on the datapad.

_I'm too young to be losing my mind, but too old to be flying snubfighters._

Finally, he looked up at Dano. "Good sim run," he said, blowing out the words with a sigh. "Been a while since I've seen that particular scenario handled well. We nabbed the squints in record time – before the Interdictor was even scheduled to reach Mos Eisely."

"Debriefing always makes it sound like we only have five minutes to dispatch the TIEs," Dano said with a chuckle. "I think it's just to make the kids panic and teach the parents patience."

Leroy blew a bubble, chewed thoughtfully for a moment, and then ventured: "What do you think of Seth?"

The Executive Officer arched an eyebrow. "Do you want my professional or personal opinion?" It was a serious question, asked in a humorous manner.

"Both," Leroy replied with equal earnest. "I trust your judgment."

"That'll be the end of you some day, trust me." Dano sighed, then pushed off the wall and crossed to the middle of the room. "He's good," he admitted finally, searching for words. "Undeniably. His record speaks for itself – 18 kills in 8 sim runs. That's a handsome average in anyone's playbook."

Leroy nodded slowly. "He's setting the bar high for the rest of the squad. They all look up to him – despite the age differences."

"Ability is a trait that crosses generations," Dano said with a shrug, putting his hands in the pockets of his flightsuit. "Seth's problem is his tunnel vision. He just wants to achieve. You saw how hard it was for him to accept the Novice. His pride is his guide, his guts are his god, and he doesn't bend easily."

"He's a Corellian," Leroy said, in sum, smiling up at the captain. "He thinks he's above the norm."

"Cousin of yours?"

Leroy snorted a laugh. "Maybe. My relatives usually just send holocards on the holidays, though. They don't actually participate in my life."

"We need to talk about all this bitterness you're storing up, Lead." Dano sighed, raking fingers back through his hair. It had thinned a lot over the last few years, Leroy realized suddenly, but it was still naturally jet–black. "Overall, Seth's not head–and–shoulders above the others – not yet. Bottom line, he's exceptional, but certainly not the best. He's ambitious, but he's impetuous, and gets distracted far, far too easily as a result."

"Ego's the larger issue to deal with," Leroy said, folding his arms over his chest. "If he loses the attitude, he might actually become a great pilot."

Dano spitted him with a knowing look. "He complained to you about the way you're running things, no?"

Leroy nodded without speaking, amazed as usual by Dano's uncanny perception. Sometimes he was certain his friend had a distant connection to the Force itself. The commander punched a couple of buttons on the datapad and brought up the chart of Seth's simulator records. As Dano had said, the young Corellian's average stood out above the others'. He was currently neck–and–neck with the XO for the number one spot, although Leroy already knew Dano would pull out a few stops during the next sim run in order to keep Seth in check.

"We've got to break him of his self–confidence," he said matter–of–factly, studying the figures as they scrolled across the datapad. "Teach him to be part of the team."

"The Vong will see to that," Dano said grimly. He stopped pacing and came to stand before Leroy's desk, hands folded at the small of his back. "What exactly were his demands?"

Leroy thought back to the conversation he and Seth had held in the training bay mere minutes prior. "He wants me to lay off. Give him some breathing room and more responsibility."

Dano studied his fingernails innocently. "And a promotion?"

"That'll come presently," Leroy admitted, only partly joking. "Once we've got a full roster. He'll want his own Flight. Maybe I should give him one – then he'd really see things from our perspective."

"He sounds like us, Leroy," Dano said, grinning nostalgically. "Don't tell me you've forgotten how we were when _we_ were raw recruits in the days of youth and foolishness?"

Leroy twisted his lips wistfully. "Now we're _old_ and foolish."

"Speak for yourself."

Letting the shot go without rebuttal, Leroy bent over his datapad again. "I don't know a whole lot about him, to tell you the truth. Biologs are relatively sparse, but he apparently doesn't have any history to live down. No arrests or warrants or major debts, although in a time like this, I'd take in criminals if they knew how to slag Vong…"

"I know he didn't graduate from the Academy," Dano put in offhandedly. "Chances are it had already been shut down by the time he was of age. Went out after the Rogues took Courascant, remember? So where'd he learn to fly?"

Leroy sank back in the padded chair as far as it would allow. "You said it yourself. He's a Corellian: flying is a rule of thumb. Just comes naturally to us, I guess." Grunting, the commander scraped fingers over his eyes. "I'll admit that he knows his way around a snubfighter, and he's flown in minor engagements before so he does have some experience to offer, but I don't want to lose him to his impatience. That's the thing that kills them, after all – the arrogance."

Dano fixed him with a calculating gaze. "Maybe you should scare him with the Vek Runkish story."

The tidal wave of painful nostalgia swept through his heart, and for the first time in years, Leroy saw the scene playing out in his mind again – like it had happened yesterday.

Vek Runkish had been one of Leroy and Dano's fellow cadets at the Imperial Academy. Hailing from Bakura, the man had been an Imperial zealot first and an exceptional pilot after that. He'd spent the majority of his time at the academy brown–nosing their superiors and composing anti–Rebellion propaganda.

During an assigned training run in real space, a group of Mugaari pirates had dropped out of hyperspace and attacked the outpost at which their class had been stationed. Caught in the crossfire, the trainees had been scrambled along with the two on–site veteran squadrons to defend the training base. Vek had been Leroy's wingmate while Dano had been paired with a Corellian, Weston Gorje.

The Mugaari had been relentless in their assault, despite being outnumbered and the fact that their fighters were severely outdated. Their own civil war, which had been raging for several years, had stripped them of resources, so the attack had been a grab for supplies. They had come in hot and hard, most flying outdated Y-Wings and Z-95 Headhunters. The main force was backed by a Corellian Corvette and a Carrack–light Cruiser, the latter of which was only performing at 63 percent operating strength. But the pirates were desperate and had nothing to lose, which made them all the more formidable.

Weston, Dano's wingmate, went down in the first wave of fighters, but Dano managed to dance through the Mugaari formation alone and unscathed. He survived the encounter with four kills to his name, one of them gained by saving the life of the class's staff lieutenant.

Leroy and Vek stayed close together, following their flight leader through the dogfight. Vek got a kill, Leroy two, and then their flight officer – the only commissioned pilot in their trainee flight group – was caught in crossfire. Leroy remembered vividly the panic, being temporarily blinded by the explosion, and then the hollow, sinking sensation in his stomach as he realized that they were on their own. Vek immediately took command of the flight group, and out of blind panic, no one protested. The remaining four cadets in their wing managed to hold off the Mugaari along with the survivors of the other Imperial squadrons for nearly an hour.

Finally, the pirates began to withdraw. Vek ordered a chase, but the others in his flight group protested. Their fuel tanks were nearly drained, and one of the cadets – the son of a Courascanti senator – reported serious hull damage. Leroy too tried to convince Vek just to let the pirates run, but the other man insisted vehemently, having tasted victory and wanting more. He was their impromptu leader, and when he began the pursuit alone, the rest of the Flight simply could not abandon him.

The pursuit took them even further from the outpost. They took down an assault shuttle and one of its Y-Wing escorts, and things actually seemed to be going favorably.

– until the additional Corvette dropped out of hyperspace directly on top of them.

The freighter had no intention of continuing the attack; it had only come back in–system to retrieve the surviving pirates. However, upon finding its retreating fighters under assault, it opened fire. Once more, the cadets pleaded with their acting–leader to pull back, but again Vek refused. He insisted vehemently that they could handle it, that it was all for the glory of the Empire.

In the next instant, his fighter had been hollowed by fire from the corvette. The TIE erupted before he could eject.

A second trainee in the flight group went down in flames before Leroy assumed command of the battered group and gave the order to retreat. The survivors limped back to the outpost, and the pirates fled the system, leaving space behind them full of wreckage.

Leroy gained nothing from the encounter but handshakes and praise for his courage. Dano, on the other hand, whose TIE had been severely damaged during the course of the dogfight, was awarded a medal for bravery and extensive praise for his four kills. Initially, Leroy had been jealous of his friend, but he had come to realize that it was smarting pride – the same idiotic sentiment that had driven Vek Runkish to call the suicidal attack on the Corvette, a decision that had cost the young man his life.

_And it's the same thing that will cost Seth his. He has to learn his limitations._

The commander shook his head, putting away the memories. "You were there, Dano. You know why I don't tolerate arrogance."

Dano said nothing. His eyes were unfocused; he too was seeing into the past.

Sighing heavily, Leroy looked down at his datapad and studied Seth's statistics again. "How do you feel about simming him against some skips?"

Dano raised his eyebrows, still not looking at Leroy. "I did overhear him complaining that we were still pitting everyone against 'Baby Imp shit and not the real deal' – quote, unquote – but he hasn't mentioned it since the third sim run. Or was it the fourth? Maybe the seventh? No, I distinctly heard him mumbling something during the twelfth, but I can't be certain –"

Leroy felt a passive sort of smile spreading across his face. "Let's schedule him to fly _Ambush_. And remind me to have Cane modify the program so that he can run it without stutter–fire."

A tactic developed by Rogue Squadron during the first encounter with the Far Outsiders, stutter–fire involved zeroing fighters' cannon embankments at slightly different vectors and lowering the output of firepower to a substandard level. The Yuzzhan Vong coralskippers were equipped with gravity wells, generated by living creatures called _dovin basals_, which resided in the noses of their ships. It was one of those creatures that had brought Sernpidal's moon down upon the planet's surface. Weak–powered lasers were harder for these miniature black holes to snag, and since the cannons were calibrated unevenly, the pilot was guaranteed to get at least one shot in at the target skip with each pull of the trigger.

"You might just scare him into never flying again," Dano said bluntly, shaking his head. "I thought we weren't going into skip training until we had a full wing."

Leroy raked fingers back through his silver hair. "I'll do what I have to. If it means throwing Seth into advanced training before he's ready, so be it. He's too good to lose, but he won't benefit us if he can't work with the rest of us mortals. And we won't find a suitable replacement, I'll tell you that right now."

The indirect reference to the shortness of hands since the war with the Yuzzhan Vong started a second silent reverie between the two officers. The war had been long, cold, and brutal. Many had lost family, friends, and loved ones. Even more horrible, many of those counted lost were not truly dead; they had become slaves to the Yuuzhan Vong, eventually to become additions to their armies of thousands.

Leroy had been caught entirely off–guard when the new Chief of State, the Alderaanian Cal Omas, and Senator Leia Organa Solo had approached him directly with the task of forming a new squadron to battle the far outsiders. After all, he was no Wedge Antilles with a history of heroics and a chest full of medals. He was just an average pilot, merely another survivor fighting along with the rest of the New Republic out of utter necessity.

Having graduated the Imperial Academy a year before the outbreak of the Galactic Civil War between the Empire and the Rebellion, Leroy had received a commission in the Imperial Navy by default. In fact, he'd been offered a place on the roster of one of the most esteemed starfighter squadrons, the famed 181st. A severe illness had initially kept him from reporting for duty, but the destruction of Alderaan not long into the conflict had permanently hardened Leroy's resolve against the black heart of the Emperor. He'd been possessed of plenty of doubts concerning the "just" nature of the Empire's territorial disputes throughout his time at the Academy. Both their unspoken policy on handling prisoners and an affinity bordering on obsession for ancient Sith culture, not to mention the severe racism and rumors of slave labor had collectively sapped his confidence in the powers that be. But the Empire's conduct during the war had been the final straw prompting his defection, placing him in the cockpit of an X-Wing at the Battle of Endor – flying against the 181st instead of with them.

During the current war with the Far Outsiders, Leroy had spent the months flying with various professional squadrons and being transferred between flights as the fleet danced from sector to sector to counter the relentless Vong advance across the galaxy.

_It really didn't make sense that they came to me,_ he thought, narrowing his eyes. _I'm no hero of the Rebellion or anything like that. Dano, on the other hand, has been through this thing thick and thin – and he was on _both_ sides during the Civil War. He probably would have been a better candidate for commander. I'm not even sure how they came upon my name in the first place._

Regardless, his stammered protests hadn't stopped the New Republic from promoting him to the rank of commander and filling his New Republic account with the necessary funds to begin filling the squadron roster. It was purely propaganda, intended to inspire confidence amongst the battered Alliance, the way the reformation of Rogue Squadron had in the late days of the Civil War. What success this new stunt would garner was left to be seen.

Left with no alternative, Leroy had accepted his promotion and the assignment – albeit reluctantly – and naturally brought Dano along for the ride. Theirs was not an easy task. Suitable pilots were becoming harder and harder to come by, and the Alliance was already stuffing cockpits with any free–thinking individual they could find. The problem remained that these inexperienced pilots had no formal training, much less any good chance of surviving.

But Leroy had visions for this squadron, his brainchild – the one in which he had invested the past seven months of his life. The first few months had seen little but financial matters – trying to get his hands on snubfighters, simulators, droids, and tech crews. Getting in touch with Dano (from halfway across the galaxy) and convincing him to be his XO had taken several weeks as well, and then there had been the process of sending out recruitment information over the holonets throughout surviving, Alliance–affiliated planets.

It had only been in the last few months that things had become interesting. Together, Leroy and Dano had gone through what seemed like hundreds of applicants, but few had been made up of the stern stuff they were looking for. Slowly but surely, their selectiveness paid off. Cane Roulvecksch had been the first official addition, and he'd been closely followed by Led Sketz. Vick Fleen and Farvebacca had come as a package deal, and Mr. Seth Joust had only been on the roster for four weeks. The squad was still five pilots short of a full wing, and there was so much left to do. After all, according to Academy standards, the training time required for a serviceable unit was six months, a time period they would stretch or skewer as need be. After all, the Vong pursuit of the fleet was close and heated. It was only a matter of time before they engaged the Alliance again full–scale.

They still had so much work ahead of them.

Leroy sighed and looked up at Dano. His friend was watching him expectantly, waiting for him to speak. The commander sat forward in his chair, clearing his throat and redirecting his thoughts. "Let's give them another twenty minutes to finish eating, and then I want Seth, Led, Cane, and Farvebacca in the TIE sims. Pit them against applicants 89 – 93. Feel free to suit up and help them out a bit, Number One."

"Flight Instructor Ven, that's me."

"You know you enjoy it," Leroy returned, smiling.

Dano snorted a laugh. "It's a regular delight. You should eat something too, Lead."

"As ordered." Leroy stood and stretched, fighting a yawn. "I'll meet you back down in the training bay shortly."

The XO saluted sharply and then exited the room, leaving the commander alone with his thoughts.

As the door slid shut behind Dano, Leroy put his fists down on the durasteel desktop and let his knuckles crack beneath the weight of his upper body. He traced his own shadowy reflection with his eyes, wondering when he and the rest of the galaxy would finally be able to return to their homes for the rest they so deserved.

* * *

The office door hissed open and Leroy looked up from his datapad.

A Bothan with rust–colored fur stepped into the cramped office, followed immediately by the squadron's executive officer. Orange eyes gleamed intelligently from beneath furry brows, sunk behind high cheekbones. He was shorter than Dano, which wasn't much of a surprise: not many people, alien or human, were taller than Dano was. The Wookiee, Farvebacca, was a rare exception.

The pair stopped in front of Leroy's desk. Both saluted Leroy smartly, then the Bothan clasped his taloned hands at the small of his back. The deep green of the flightsuit he wore contrasted severely with the red–brown of his pelt.

Dano stood to the right of the desk, facing the Bothan, and read information aloud off of the datapad he held. "This is Croutz Yuvahak, Commander – "

The Bothan offered a nervous smile full of fangs. "I prefer 'Rusty', Sir."

Leroy nodded once and waved a hand at Dano to continue.

"He survived the _Half Again_ scenario and obtained three kills – one of which was Farvebacca. He actually got a piece of Lt. Roulvecksch too, but not enough of him to take him out. His standing score is 1983."

In order for an applicant to even be considered as a potential candidate for the squad, they had to score a 1650 or higher. Croutz Yuvahak, descendant of a people noted more for their expertise in computers than in snubfighters, was either exceptionally good or exceptionally lucky.

Dano continued the interview. "Uh, Rusty has been in three combat missions before. He flew with General Salm at Brentaal IV against a division of Fel's 181st and later rooted out Imp renegades over Courascant. He also was involved with one ground assault, assisting Rogue Squadron again at Borleias.

"As you can guess, Mr. Yuvahak was born on Bothuwai and is actually related to the late Borsk Fey'lya by several removed generations. He is forty–seven standard years of age, excels as a computer hacker/slicer, and likes cheese."

Leroy, who had been studying the Bothan's scores on his datapad screen, took a moment to comprehend the last thing Dano had said. He looked up with an incredulous expression on his face. "_What_?"

Dano shrugged as he walked back around the desk and stood behind the Bothan pilot. "He likes cheese – mainly imported from Thyferra. Just thought you should know."

Leroy barked a short laugh, abandoning protocol, and sank back in the chair. "You know, I think I really just brought you along for the comic relief, Captain."

Dano aped a salute, a grin on his handsome face. "Laughter's good for the health, sir."

Leroy rested his elbows on the desk and turned his gaze back onto Rusty, who had been watching the brief exchange uncertainly. The commander cleared his throat and forced humor away.

"You're a little old to be a pilot, Mr. Yuvahak," he said bluntly, studying the Bothan's reaction, and ignoring Dano as he mouthed "_hypocrite_". "However, you are clearly skilled, and I won't deny that a pilot of your experience would be invaluable to us. May I ask what exactly made up your mind to enlist as part of this squadron?"

The fur on the Bothan's face rippled as he considered his response. "Well, it's like this, sir. My parents and I were both with the Alliance back when we were still fighting the Empire. They were killed in the mission to steal the Death Star plans – the first time around. I know they'd want me to carry on what they started, even if it is against the Yuuzhan Vong rather than Stormtroopers." Yuvahak smiled thinly, pressing his black lips together. "This way I'll make them proud by doing what I'm good at."

Leroy glanced at Dano, who nodded his approval, then looked back at the Bothan. "I wish to see you in the training bay promptly at oh–eight hundred hours tomorrow morning for another screening session. Take the night easy, Mr. Yuvahak. Dismissed."

The Bothan saluted again, then turned smartly and exited the room.

Dano watched him leave, then turned to look at his friend. "He's got character."

Leroy consulted his datapad. "Bring in number 90. Junius Ithel – the Rodian. Let me see him."

Dano saluted and exited the room.

While he waited, Leroy kneaded his forehead with his knuckles, trying to fight a persistent smile. It felt so _good_ to laugh again, even at something so trivial. The sentient beings of the galaxy had laughed over precious little in the grim months past, had struggled to see the light flickering at the end of the tunnel. It was a tall order, but it was a personal creed of Leroy Corsurge's to return to them once more the ability to enjoy life in all of its fullness.


	4. Chapter: 3

**Chapter: 3

* * *

**

Vick Fleen cursed as he sprawled on the nose of the A-Wing snubfighter, the upper half of his body submerged in the cockpit. Due to his inverted posture, sweat trickled from his chin to his forehead, trailing through the mottled patches of oil and grease on his cheeks as he fought with the fighter's internal wiring. The accumulation of filth covering his body was severe, but to a boy who'd grown up a technician, always up to his elbows in one repair job or another, it was far from uncomfortable to be so dirty.

He twisted slightly, shifting out of the awkward position, and accidentally hit a switch on the control panel with his elbow. With a cough, the A-Wing's twin engines roared to life. Vehement blue sparks geysered from the outlets below the control panel where vital wires were disconnected, and the snubfighter's exterior vibrated beneath him angrily in protest.

_Oh, goddammit –_

Vick slammed the switch again – with his fist, purposely this time. The wailing engine shut off instantly, and the sparks that had fallen on the transparisteel gradually flickered out of existence. He'd forgotten to reconnect the failsafe, and he was fortunate the exposed fuselage hadn't started slinging petrol as a result.

Berating himself, Vick lay back on the starboard s-foil and closed his eyes for a moment. The hangar echoed with the sounds of other mechanics working, and the air was cool enough to dry the sweat on Vick's forehead.

He lay still a moment longer, exhausted, until he heard the questioning beep from somewhere behind him. Forcing his eyes open, Vick found himself looking up into the single photoreceptor of the orange–trimmed R5 astromech droid he'd hijacked from the maintenance bay. "Sport", the Verpine tech chief had called it.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," he said irritably, forcing himself to sit up. "Sorry about that."

Sport swiveled its flowerpot head slightly, gazing quizzically at him. It tootled a series of singsong spats and whistles, clearly admonishing him to be more careful, then swiveled its head back around and returned to the task Vick had assigned it – recalibrating the port laser bank.

_I _do _have to __be more careful,_ the boy from Tatooine thought sourly, folding his legs beneath him as he watched the astromech's ultra–human precision. _Equipment is scarce these days, and I don't want to get myself kicked out of the squadron… Having to order another brand new fighter because I _broke_ the one I haven't even _flown _yet could do the trick._

Green Squadron, a week or so away from receiving its active–duty commission, had been granted seven A-Wings by the Galactic Alliance, and the remaining five were being paid for by the Provisional Council. As yet, only the initial seven had arrived in the hangar, but the rest were assuredly on their way.

Assuming the Vong fleet didn't catch up with them beforehand, Commander Corsurge wouldn't complain about the delay. The aging CO was decidedly the cautious type and never seemed to be satisfied with anything. He wasn't necessarily a glass–half–empty persona, but if there was anything at all within consideration that could stand improvement, Corsurge would find it and improve it. Building Green Squadron from the ground up was a massive project in which the commander had invested much time and energy: seeing his pilots fly into combat unprepared was something he simply wasn't going to do.

That was fine by Vick: not only did it give him the time he wanted to work on the A-Wing he'd been assigned, but it was more time to stay alive. He wasn't a coward by any means, nor was he afraid of dying, but life was something he'd always taken for granted before joining the squadron. In retrospect, the years he'd spent working in Tosche's repair bay back on Tatooine seemed blurred together, but during the time, they had passed so slowly. Crawling around beneath sandspeeders and Incom 5s had been a passion of Vick's, but it had been his _only_ passion. Now that he'd escaped Tatooine, there was so much he wanted to do – things he didn't even know yet.

And on top of that, he had a lot to prove – to Commander Corsurge, to Farve, to himself. Barely 20, he was the youngest member of the squadron, a position that was daunting yet beneficial. People like Seth and Captain Ven were role models he could follow, people from whom he could learn invaluable lessons. But proving his ability was also essential, if only to avoid being treated like the baby of the family.

Ever since their first meeting, Farvebacca had always treated him gently, forever an overprotective sibling, but not in any sort of demeaning way. The brotherhood Vick and the Wookiee shared was a bond closer than friendship – something that was almost inexplicable. But it was time for Vick to really step out as who he was: confident, self–reliant, independent.

_I need to learn to stand on my own._

He swung his legs back into the cockpit and slid down to a crouch amidst the tangles of wiring. He had temporarily removed the command couch so that he could tinker with the cockpit wiring and put things back together as he pleased.

His first and only job back on Tatooine had been working with landspeeders and skyhoppers at Tosche Station just outside Mos Eisely, not far from the wastes where he and his father had lived. He'd been eight years old on the first day he'd wandered into the sand–blasted refueling station, and Farvebacca, the lonely Wookiee who had been working at Tosche's for barely a month on less than minimum wage, had been well into his sixties. An immediate camaraderie had sprung up between them, and Farve had been delighted to show the quiet, inquisitive boy around the shop and repair bay, attempting to communicate through various woofs and hand gestures.

Days had passed in a similar manner, then weeks. It hadn't been long before the aging Tosche had offered Vick an under–the–table job assisting Farve on speeder maintenance, and from there it had only been a matter of time before the 10–year–old boy was repairing everything from shuttles to droids to speederbikes all on his own. Farve taught Vick everything there was to know about vehicles of all shapes, sizes, and makes, and Vick had quickly learned how poorly constructed brand new vessels of any class could be. The Wookiee's intuition in vehicular mechanics had translated itself to Vick in more ways than just head knowledge, and as a result, he preferred to perform his own maintenance – if only to fix all the faulty systems the droid assembly lines had carelessly glossed over.

"Nice ship."

There had been silence in the hangar bay for well over two hours – save for his mishap mere minutes prior, the steady hum of the _Kiss_, and the irregular but decidedly background noises accustomed to a maintenance hangar. As a result, Vick jumped at the voice and hit his head on the transparisteel viewport. He sat down hard and saw stars dancing before his eyes.

"Are you okay?" The voice was distinctly feminine and it had a melodious ring.

_Great first impression. Clumsy Vick Fleen: under–socialized runt from Tatooine. Got too much sand in his head, spent too much time with Banthas and a Wookiee._

Massaging his head furiously, Vick sat up – more carefully this time – and peeked over the rim of the cockpit.

A woman of medium height stood beneath the small service ladder hanging on the A-Wing's starboard s-foil. She was clad in a green New Republic flight suit, carrying a helmet tucked under one arm. Despite the thick clothing she wore, Vick couldn't help but notice the full breasts or the long, athletic legs. She was quite attractive in the face, and now hers was an expression of scrutiny as her eyes met his, and Vick had the oddest feeling that she was reading his mind.

He suddenly realized that he was staring. _Say something, idiot._

Vick blushed, blinked and straightened. "I'm sorry?" It probably hadn't been the best option available for conversation, but Vick wasn't necessarily up on social skills.

The dark–haired woman arched an equally dark eyebrow at him. Her gaze was intense, like staring into Tatooine's twin suns. "I complemented you on your ship."

He was sure the reiteration hadn't been intended rudely – it had just come out that way. Vick winced, rubbing his head roughly as he crawled out of the cockpit. He quickly scaled the nose of the A-Wing in a crouch, and climbed down the service ladder. As he came to stand beside the woman, he realized that he stood nearly a half–a–head taller.

_I've always been the short one in any group, especially standing next Farve._ The change was not unwelcome.

The woman looked up at him, strangely not dwarfed despite the variation in size.

Vick gestured vaguely at the cockpit. "_Er –_ sorry, I just get carried away with my maintenance."

She favored him with a small smile. "I think I'm the one who needs to apologize – I tend to 'jump to conclusions' as the phrase goes."

Vick smiled too. "Ah – forget it. It's nothing." He turned abruptly and ducked under the A-Wing's nose. "So you're a fan of the RZ-3?"

"In most respects," the woman replied, watching him as he flipped open the panel on the snubfighter's belly that housed the forward sensor array. "I've heard rumors that these newer models have somewhat inferior handling when it comes to really tight flying. There's more give in the rudder than the RZ-2."

"Not after I'm done with it," he called to her, smiling even though she couldn't see his face. "I take it you're an applicant for the squadron?"

Her voice echoed in the hangar as she replied. "Just got out of the simulator. Commander Corsurge told me to take a look around while he and Captain Ven discuss my scores."

"I guess we'll be getting to know each other in the future, then." Vick swore as he realized that he would need a wrench to open the internal access panel and ducked back out of the compartment. Immediately, he smacked his head on the distended landing gear attached to the fighter's belly, causing him to see stars for a second time.

The woman pilot fought a giggle as he staggered back against the landing strut, grasping his head. The laughter was out of character for one who was presumably so serious. "Apparently you're not hard of hearing – just clumsy!"

Vick growled, rubbing his throbbing head tenderly. "I thought people from Dathomir were serious."

The woman's mirth faded into an inquisitive look. "How did you know that I was Dathomiri?"

Smiling despite his watering eyes, Vick pointed at the patch on her jumpsuit directly over her heart and a little to the left. "Your flight patch has Dathomiri colors on it. I recognized them."

For a moment, she said nothing. Finally, a smile began creeping slowly over her face, and she extended her hand to him. "Maybe," she said with a trace of amusement, "you are perceptive. Have you visited my home planet before?"

Vick shook his head. "Oh, no – I've just studied a lot. Useless information, mostly. Reading is somewhat of a hobby of mine. Not much else to do but roll around in the sand on Tatooine." He took her hand in his. Hers was smaller, but although petite, he could feel great power emerging from her.

_Her grip is like iron._

"My name is Teneniel Tyra," she said. Her green eyes flashed almost violently.

"Vick Fleen," he replied awkwardly. He dropped her hand and stood back to look at her, folding arms over his chest. "Dathomir… Can't say I've never met anyone hailing form there before. I can't recall, but something about the place sticks out in my mind…"

She smiled grimly. "The Nightsisters."

Vick shivered involuntarily. _Jedi witches. __Yeah, that was it._ "I always thought they were stories told to frighten children into being good," he told her, grinning. "Guess not, huh?"

Teneniel shook her head; dark locks danced over her face. "No. My name is steeped in their lineage. I am the only child of a _reformed_ Nightsister." Understandably, she placed significant emphasis on the adjective: mention of her blood would have caused many to frown upon her.

Vick was suddenly struck by revelation as to why he'd thought Teneniel had been reading his mind earlier – _she had been_.

"So, you're a witch?" he asked as though he couldn't care less, turning to ascend the ladder to the cockpit again.

"I didn't say that," Teneniel replied crisply, ice lending razor edges to her words.

He paused at the top rung and looked back down at her. "You're a Nightsister then."

"I didn't say that either," she refuted, looking back up at him. "Technically speaking, I am a Jedi learner or padawan. Whichever title you prefer. I impugn the Nightsister ways and have separated myself from them."

Absently, Vick handed Sport the fusion cutter it had been looking for. "Why did your mother decide to leave the Nightsisters? If you don't mind my asking."

She shook her head. "Not at all. During a battle between the Singing Mountain Clan and the Nightsisters, a woman named Teneniel Djo – who was aiding the Singing Clan – saved my mother's life. So, in honor of her rescuer, she renounced her old ways forever and named me after Djo. I am her only descendant."

"Aren't yours the people who capture their mates?" Vick asked abruptly, poking his head out of the cockpit to retrieve the laser cutter from the astromech. He caught the wordless smile she threw up at him and implied meaning it carried. Somewhat nervous all of a sudden, he ducked back into the cockpit and changed the subject. "Teneniel Djo is the queen of the Hapes Cluster now, no?"

"Until several weeks ago, yes, she was." The tone of Teneniel's voice deepened with sadness. "Her daughter, Tenel Ka now rules in her place."

Vick grimaced. Too many had died beneath the Yuzzhan Vong onslaught.

He looked around the cockpit in silence, realizing that since the conversation with Teneniel had begun, he'd accomplished nothing. _Sithspit_, he thought mildly. He couldn't work well while he was talking and never had been able to. It had driven Tosche crazy, but Farve had always found every opportunity to work together with Vick on a project.

He leaned over the side of the cockpit and rested his chin on his arms. "So, what can you do?"

Teneniel frowned up at him, confused. "Pardon?"

"Sorry – do you have any special Jedi talents?" he rephrased, genuinely intrigued.

The Dathomiri's frown took on a new origin. "I… I am not strong yet. I am still developing my skills. Being a self–taught Jedi takes time and effort."

"Can you show me something?" he requested, perhaps a little too brusquely to be polite.

Teneniel thought about the request for a moment somewhat reluctantly, but after a moment's hesitation, she closed her eyes and concentrated, drawing her brows together. "I seem to be somewhat gifted in the ability of telekinesis – you know? The movement of objects by one's mind?"

Vick nodded even though her eyes were closed, wondering what she was going to levitate. Then he realized that Sport was floating a foot away from him, several feet above the A-Wing's cockpit. The little robot screeched indignantly at him, demanding to be put down.

Vick blinked, then found his voice. He jerked a thumb at the Dathomiri woman. "Curse at her."

Teneniel's lips parted in a small smile. The effort of concentrating caused beads of perspiration to form on her forehead and cheeks. Slowly, she set Sport (still blatting furiously) back down on the A-Wing's s-foil, and then put a hand out against the service ladder to steady herself, breathing heavily.

"Are you okay?" Vick asked, quickly climbing out of the cockpit and crawling toward the edge of the fighter's nose.

"I don't normally have audiences," she explained, wiping away sweat from her temples. "The Force is not very strong in me."

"Could have fooled me. That was amazing!" Vick raked fingers back through his hair in numb disbelief and immediately regretted the action because of the engine grease covering his hands. "I've never seen anything like that before."

Teneniel took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "It will be more impressive once I've mastered my technique."

"It's impressive now," Vick assured her. He swung his body over the edge of the A-Wing and began descending the ladder once more. "How long have you been studying?"

"Since I was small," she admitted, twisting her lips into a look of wry dissatisfaction as he landed on the deck beside her. "It goes without saying that I've not made significant improvement. I suppose it's to be expected because I've never been as disciplined as I should… I've spent more time flying snubfighters than applying myself to personal credence."

She lapsed into silence with a shrug.

Unable to turn the negative around, Vick changed the subject instead. "So how'd you do in the sim run?" he asked, leaning against the A-Wing's hull. "Did Commander Corsurge have you fly the _Redemption_ scenario or _Loose Hand_?"

Teneniel's eyes brightened considerably as she looked back up at him. "_Redemption_. I vaped Captain Ven in the first run – he was in a TIE – but then the Wookiee got me from behind in the second. Commander Corsurge says I'm a natural."

Vick felt a spark of pride over Farvebacca's success, but at the same time his jaw dropped.

She smiled at his surprise and continued. "My total score was 2083. I'm hoping they'll let me stay on."

Vick laughed as though the statement was amusing and shook his head in disbelief. "If you can vape the XO, they're not gonna get rid of you anytime soon. _Damn_! I can't even _touch_ Captain Ven!"

Teneniel took her pilot's helmet in both hands, studying the carbon scoring that marred the timeless insignia of the Rebel Alliance. "I just got lucky. The other trainees were screening me as he and the other TIEs hit us head–on. I just popped up and nailed him with a concussion missile at point blank range." She snorted a small laugh. "But Captain Ven is human. He and I are on the same playing field despite our differences in skill. I shudder to think of actually facing the Yuuzhan Vong while a Yammosk is coordinating them…"

They both were silent for a long, weary moment.

The Alliance had been actively hunting down the Yammosks, but it had proven difficult to probe into Vong territory when the fleet was on the retreat and the space the Far Outsiders controlled was only broadening. The Yammosks were living organisms that coordinated the Vong fleet into a single unit of destruction by joining the minds of each Vong pilot into a singular consciousness. Nothing could be as perfectly coordinated as the Vong coralskippers when they were connected by the brain creatures, seeing all through each other's eyes, thinking collectively, flying in perfect formation.

Vick blew out a sigh. "Commander Corsurge said he'd be putting us through intensive training against skips soon, though I'm not sure when. I haven't simmed against them yet, but some of the other pilots have actually flown against them for real."

"Captian Ven and Commander Corsurge for starters," Teneniel commented.

The boy nodded. "Right. And I think Led Sketz has too. Lieutenant Roulvecksch, I'm not sure. The rest of us are all new to this. I've fought smugglers before, but really I'm here because I know how to fix pretty much anything."

"_And_ you can fly," Teneniel added, smiling in an encouraging sort of way.

"Yeah, that too." He grinned back, wiping grease from his hands onto his trousers. "Alright, I've had enough of this for now. Sport?"

Above, the astromech turned its bucket head around and fixed its photoreceptor onto the pilot's face.

"Make sure your tech friends don't take those tools away – I'm not through with them yet." Vick tossed the little droid a salute. "Just finish that one laser bank, would you?"

Sport gave him a whistle in the affirmative and went back to its labor as though there had been no interruption.

Vick turned back to Teneniel and offered her his arm, blushing and feeling stupid. "Care to continue our conversation over a drink?"

Teneniel smiled – whether at his exaggerated manners or his obvious embarrassment, it was hard to tell. She looped her arm through his, tucking her helmet under the other elbow. "You've got the sweeping a lady off her feet thing down and you're certainly charming, but usually a girl likes her date to be clean."

He laughed, unconsciously smearing hydraulic fluid on the back of his neck with his free hand. "But you've clearly already decided to go out with me anyway. Are you saying you're not the norm?"

"Hardly." She tugged him forward and he stumbled a little but managed to fall into stride with her without falling. "Seeing as you're so gentlemanly and polite, I just already know _you're_ going to buy."

They stepped into the turbolift together and left the hangar behind, laughing all the way.

* * *

"Tell me about the Vong," Seth said, leaning on the table with his elbows.

Across from him sat Captain Dano Ven and Led Sketz, nursing their own drinks. The entire mood of the evening had been light and genial, full of laughter and small talk, but now the smiles faded from their faces at the request hanging in the air before them – like a black hole from the Core, sucking them in.

The bar in which they sat was relatively empty for being the dinner hour, but the thrum of the _Kiss's_ engines was a comforting constant, filling any gaps in conversation. The evening was fading rapidly into night, but "night" was a decidedly relative term in space, so all chronometers in the fleet were set to Courascant time. The passing hours were easy to feel, especially for pilots in training.

When neither of the older men answered his request immediately, Seth leaned forward, setting his drink down on the tabletop. "You've both flown against them. I just want to know what exactly I should know about them – what to expect."

Dano took a sip of his Lum ale and bared his teeth as the liquid burned its way down his throat. "Well, what _exactly_ would you like to know?" he asked mildly, swiping a hand over his mouth. "I'm sure you've heard all the stories, and for the most part they're true –"

"The skips," Seth clarified quickly. "They're good."

"Yeah, they're good," Led agreed, studying the drink he held in two hands. "They're real good. No shields, but you know they've got those gravity things – like black holes. Dovin basals. They suck in lasers and missiles to keep them protected. That's what stutter–fire was designed for."

Dano scratched at his unshaven cheek, squinting at the ceiling. "Works better with X-Wings 'cause they've got four cannon embankments."

"But our A-Wings can handle them," Seth said, and although he said it like a fact, it was more of a question.

"Skips aren't invincible, Seth – we can beat them." Led fixed him with a confident grin full of teeth. "They're damn maneuverable for asteroids, but we _can_ beat them."

"We'll sim against them soon," Dano promised, studying Seth's face – perhaps for a reaction.

The Corellian pilot nodded mechanically. "Yes, sir – I'm looking forward to it." Even if he was nervous, it was the truth: the sooner they began, the better. The more practice he got in before facing the real thing, the more confident he'd be.

Led turned to Dano, letting a beefy elbow ride the tabletop. "How good are our skip programs? I mean, they've been significantly updated as the war's unfolded, but can they really simulate Vong tactics accurately?"

"Accurately enough," Dano replied with a shrug. "Feels like the real thing. Courascant's actually working on a skip sim for us to train in – for a more inside–the–other–guy's–head experience. Problem is that hood thing the Vong wear to control the ships. In the real thing, you steer with your mind. The design's not real easy to duplicate."

"But you said we'll sim against them soon," Seth said before he could stop himself.

"Keep your pants on, Seth," Led said with mild irritation, and Seth felt his face tightening at the older man's condescension. He held up an index finger. "Remember: no patience, no gain."

All three of them looked up as the newcomer came to stand beside the table and saluted smartly. He was a Bothan – instantly recognizable by the excessive body hair, violent eyes, and short stature. He was dressed in a simple brown tunic, devoid of any insignias or personal identification.

The three seated pilots returned the salute without formality, and Dano said, "At ease, Mr. Yuvahak."

The Bothan relaxed visibly. "Permission to join your table, Captain Ven?"

"Granted." The captain indicated the empty spot on the bench beside Seth, who immediately scooted over to make room. "Have a seat and drop the titles."

Looking distinctly uncomfortable over the latter part of the request, the Bothan sat slowly and folded his hands on the table in a dignified manner. He made no move to speak.

Dano took the hint. "Gentlemen," he said, indicating the Bothan to his human fellows, "I give you Croutz Yuvahak, newest entrée to the Green Squadron roster."

_Ah_, Seth thought, scrutinizing the Bothan carefully.

Led raised his cup in salute, smiling warmly. "Welcome to the club, Mr. Yuvahak. I'm Led Sketz, and this is Seth Joust. We're your squad–mates for the time being."

"Until we kick them out," Dano said with disinterest.

"It's a pleasure," Yuvahak said, as though oblivious to the jesting. He inclined his head at the two pilots in turn, spitting each with a mild glare. "Please call me Rusty."

"Can do," Led replied easily, offering a smile.

Dano flagged the bartender with a finger for another round of drinks, winking at Seth (who was purchasing them, as was the obligation). "I trust you found your quarters easily enough?"

Rusty nodded shortly, without enthusiasm. "Yes, sir. They're comfortable."

The captain snorted a laugh, drawing grins from Led and Seth. "You don't have to lie for my sake, Rusty – I didn't design them." He took a mouthful from his drink and growled as he swallowed. "They're tighter than a Sarlaac's stomach."

Rusty's black lips curved in a reluctant smile. "Generally speaking, it is considered impolite in my culture to openly criticize a host's dwelling, even if they themselves are not fond of it."

"You've got more manners than Seth does, then," Led said, speaking as though the younger pilot wasn't sitting across from him.

"Seth likes to complain," Dano agreed lightly in the same manner.

The Corellian shook his head with the air of someone much put–upon. "Rib on me if you'd like, gentlemen. My sim scores would prove that you're just bitter."

Dano winced as though Seth's words had caused him physical pain and Led snorted a laugh. Even Rusty cracked a smile, although it was after a moment's hesitation. His open–mouthed grin revealed sharply pointed teeth.

"Well, if you're even unofficially on the roster, you must have impressed Commander Corsurge," Led said conversationally. He flattened his hand into an A-Wing and took it through several loops above the tabletop. "Seth will want to keep track of your scores."

The Bothan glanced sidelong at his bench–mate, who rolled his eyes in a "don't listen to him" sort of way. He couldn't tell if Rusty had gotten the message; human and Bothan body languages were significantly different dialects.

"I flew the _Four Points_ scenario with Captain Ven and the Wookiee as wingmates," Rusty said to Led. "I soloed in _Redemption_ several hours later."

"He ratcheted up seven kills total," Dano announced as the bartender set a foaming mug in front of the Bothan. "Standing sim score is 2802."

Seth whistled, impressed. "Sounds like I've got my work cut out for me."

Led downed the last of his drink and sank back in his seat contentedly. "Are you an A-Wing pilot by default, Rusty?" he asked, folding his hands on his belly.

The Bothan shook his head, rippling the fur on his face voluntarily. "I flew two tours of duty in a Y-Wing – both with different gunners. I'm fully checked out in X- and A-wing fighters, but my formal training was in the Z-95."

"_Gods_, how old are you?" Seth asked with a laugh. He immediately realized the cultural error of diplomacy he had just committed when both Dano and Led simultaneously shot him looks of abject horror. Flushing, Seth opened his mouth to amend his jest, but Rusty was smiling disarmingly.

"Too old to be doing this, Mr. Joust," the Bothan admitted, growling in a warning–yet–forgiving sort of manner. He met Seth's apologetic gaze with a look full of orange irises, sending a shiver up the Corellian's spine. "But I'm not going to lie down and wait for the Vong to come to me."

"As well you shouldn't," Dano praised, smiling thinly. Apparently, he'd been prepared for a decidedly messier breach in the conversation.

"It's always been my philosophy," Rusty said, tentatively sampling his alcohol.

They lapsed into awkward silence for several minutes, brought about by the less–than–pleasant exchange. Rusty did not seem as affected by the uneasy break in the conversation as the human pilots were. He seemed almost dignified by it.

Finally, Dano pushed himself to his feet with a groan, and the other three pilots stood respectfully. Seth was immensely grateful for a break in the deafening silence.

"We've got some flying to do in the morning, gentlemen," the captain announced, stretching broadly. "I suggest you rest up if you entertain any notions of besting me tomorrow."

"A challenge?" Led asked, grinning.

"A promise." Dano yawned deeply, an act which took some of the edge off his cocky swagger. "Goodnight, gentlemen."

They saluted him, and he walked away toward the exit.

Rusty turned to Led and Seth and nodded at each in turn. "I'm somewhat fatigued myself, so I think I will retire as well. It was a pleasure meeting you both. I look forward to flying with you both tomorrow."

"We'll meet in the sim," Led affirmed with a smile.

Seth nodded mutely, and the Bothan turned and exited the cafeteria after Dano.

Immediately, Seth turned to Led, to apologize for his blunder, but the stocky pilot had already beaten him to the punch. The stocky man dropped a hand onto Seth's shoulder and held up the other to halt any comments before they could escape the Corellian's lips.

"You don't have to apologize to me, Seth," the shorter man said. "Just take some advice from a guy who's seen enough cultural ignorance amongst squadmates to know a thing or two about manners. Do yourself a favor and spend some time learning about other sentient culture as opposed to enforcing your own upon them."

Seth frowned. "But I –"

"None of us realize it, but that's what we do." Led sighed heavily, with his whole torso. "We're all idiots sometimes – humans, Quarrens, Twi'leks, it doesn't matter. We all like to assume that everyone's just like us – that they find the same things funny, that they eat and drink the same things we do – and that if they don't, they're somehow inferior. As fighter pilots, it's easy to become introspective and blunt, because generally we kill things, kill more things, sleep for a day or two, and then kill some more. That's our lives, and it's understandable, but there's more to life than just killing."

He gave Seth's shoulder a firm pat. "Okay?"

The Corellian nodded slowly, somewhat sheepishly, taken aback by the speech.

"Good." Led smacked the taller pilot lightly on the cheek and trod the steps their fellow pilots had taken moments earlier. "I'll see you in the morning," he called over his shoulder.

Seth said nothing. He stood still in the empty bar for a while longer, left with Led's message of acceptance with which to ponder and the bill with which to tend.


	5. Chapter: 4

**Chapter: 4

* * *

**

Leroy and Dano stood together on the _Kiss of Life's_ busy observation deck, gazing out the forward viewports at the growing sphere of swirling greens and browns that was Naboo.

"Ever been here before?" the XO asked, shooting his friend a glance.

Leroy shook his head. "Nope – first time. We've all heard the stories, though – Clone Wars and all."

"Not much has happened here since then." Dano folded his arms, studying the planet critically. "Lucky them, being on the galaxy's outskirts. Or close enough."

Leroy wrapped his hands around the low rail which lined the five–foot drop into the communications pit. Below him, techs and officers of all races and gender scurried about, gathering intel from and transmitting it to the fleet.

"Peace is their defining virtue," the Commander said, still watching the growing planet. "They would have stayed out of it no matter what."

"This war? Not for long they wouldn't." Dano's tone was cynical, but his assessment was accurate. "Either they resist and fight with us now, or they refuse and fight for the _Vong_ later. But they will fight either way."

"Shame, huh?" Leroy trailed fingers on the cold durasteel, relishing the smooth metal beneath his fingertips. "Breaking an age–old tradition?"

Dano raked the fingers of both hands back through his hair, then folded them behind his head. "I suppose. Might teach them a thing or two about self–preservation. Do you know what our role in the defense stratagem will be, by the way?"

The way he worded it made Leroy smile. The Commander shook his head. "I've received no orders as yet. I can only assume that we'll be held in reserve, considering our short–handedness and lack of experience."

Dano grinned, and Leroy could see it without looking directly at the taller man.

"In that case, make the newbies wait behind," the XO said. "You and I will fly with the Rogues and take care of the real business. We'll leave Seth with a pack of Sabbacc cards – just so he doesn't get bored enough to complain."

Leroy snorted. "If only it was that simple to appease him."

"He still after you?" Dano asked, raising his eyebrows. He returned his hands to his hips.

"I haven't heard anything since our little chat in the training bay," Leroy replied easily. "But I've gotten the distinct sense that he's still not thrilled with the way things are. At least he's keeping it to himself."

Dano folded his arms again and turned to lean his buttocks on the rail.

"Let him sulk," the XO said, and he was being serious. "Part of learning to submit to authority is dealing with personal issues on your own. Seth's smart, Leroy – he'll realize eventually that he's the only one taking issue with our methods, and then he'll look for the _source_ of that indignation and realize it's just his damn Corellian pride."

Leroy nodded mutely. He'd suffered from "Corellian Pride" in his youth as well. It was painfully embarrassing to think about it now – especially in comparison to Seth's attitude.

"The kid's not about to rebel, Leroy," Dano continued. "He'll follow orders – that's been bred into him. And he's scared too, I know that for a fact. When push comes to shove, he'll look to you for leadership, because he'll be pissing his flightsuit without it."

"Nice illustration," Leroy said, pushing himself off the rail to stand upright. "I know what you mean though. I'm not really worried about it now – he's been holding his tongue, and that's all I can ask."

Dano wasn't looking at him anymore: his dark gaze was fixed at a point beyond Leroy's shoulder, deeper into the bridge. "Company," the XO announced softly.

Leroy turned on his heel and immediately snapped to attention. He felt Dano do the same, and they both held their salutes until Admiral Phillip Creel had returned them.

"At ease, gentlemen," he said.

Leroy folded his hands at his waist and shifted his weight. "What can I do for you, Admiral?"

Creel smiled slowly, looking them both over. For a long moment, he said nothing, and although Leroy knew Creel wasn't the type to play the intimidation game, he felt himself growing nervous beneath the scrutiny.

As it was, the man was intimidating without even trying. Tall, but not as tall as Dano, he was statuesque and proud, and he held himself as such. His white Admiral's uniform was pristine: the high collar and slits in the sleeves were lined with gold, and the rank insignias displayed on his breast were polished to shine.

"Suit up, Gentlemen," the Admiral said abruptly, as though he had suddenly realized just where he was. "Have your squadron ready for some precision flying in fifteen minutes. I'll alert the hangar of your impending departure."

Leroy couldn't stop the frown from crawling over his face. "Begging your pardon, sir, but the shorthanded Wing I _do_ have has been through extensive training in maneuvers already –"

"Commander Corsurge," Creel said pointedly, breaking in before he could finish. But he wasn't angry: the smile was still in place.

"You will have an observer," he said, and the _way_ he said it made it immediately clear that the unnamed "observer" would be someone of high esteem – someone that Creel wanted to impress. Basically, it meant that he would be giving the observer an extensive tour of the cleanest portions of the_ Kiss_ and parading his prized fighter squadrons one by one just for the praise.

Fighting a grimace, Leroy snapped a salute. "Of course, sir."

Creel nodded sharply. "Quickly, Commander. Dismissed."

The two pilots about–faced and marched quickly away, towards the turbolift that would take them to the hangar. Creel remained behind, taking up the spot at the rail where they had stood studying the distant planet ahead.

"'Observer'?" Dano questioned as they threaded their way through the moving jumble of officers and engineers alike.

"No idea," Leroy replied. He was curious too, but was more concerned about rounding up his pilots within the fifteen minute time increment Creel had allowed for. It would take at least that long for them to warm up the fighters and obtain necessary clearance to leave the hangar.

Dano snorted a laugh, somewhere immediately behind him.

Leroy shot a look at the tall man over his shoulder. "What?"

The XO's eyes were alight with laughter. "You," he replied. "I can already see you tensing up, and you're not even in the cockpit yet."

"I am not," Leroy retorted indignantly, lengthening his strides so that Dano couldn't catch up. It was difficult, as the XO had longer legs than he did.

"Deeeniiiaaal," Dano replied in a singsong voice.

* * *

Leia Organa Solo stood alone on the bridge of the _Kiss of Life_, wondering if she had acted rashly in proposing her argument to the Council.

Many things had changed since the Far Outsiders had invaded the galaxy. Alliances, policies, technology – all of it to fight back. The treaty signed between Imperial remnants and the New Republic had taken effect barely a week prior, and it had taken that length of time for the Vong to push the fleet all the way back to Naboo.

Leia's confidence came from the Jedi. Luke, her brother, and his disciples had backed her decision for the Council to see. That didn't mean that the path would be easy, but the fact that all of the Jedi were in agreement meant something – it had been a long, _long_ time since they had all been in one accord.

_And even longer since we felt _right_ about anything. Yet I'm still worried._

She stared out the viewport at the planet orbiting silently in space, just over a thousand kilometers away from the _Kiss_. Naboo's gravity was holding the fleet in place now: they would pass into the planet's nightside as temporary satellites within the hour.

Alas, a significant factor that had reinforced her decision: Naboo itself.

Although she had not been born there, the planet technically was _a_ home. The mother Leia had never known – save in fleeting glimpses of memory – had called the planet her own. The connection Leia felt for Naboo was more sentimental than anything, but it was a powerful draw nevertheless.

With the loss of Alderaan, where she _had_ grown up, Naboo had become a sort of _project_ for Leia. After all, it was the planet that her mother had loved. Leia had determined to herself that she would not let Naboo fall to the Vong – for reasons both political and personal.

But she kept questioning herself.

If she just needed the planet itself for its sentimental value, her motivation was off drastically. She had convinced herself that it wasn't that, mainly because emotion had never gotten in the way of her duties before. Yet she couldn't help but wonder if it _was_ attachment that drove her – much as her husband seemed to be bound to the _Millennium __Falcon_.

_No, it's the _people_ that concern me – people to whom I'm most likely related. If all else fails, we'll call for a planet–wide evacuation and just… leave._

Losing Naboo would only add another tick mark to the growing tally of Vong–conquered planets, but it was certainly better than surrendering an entire population.

And so her proposition to the Council had been thus: that the fleet remain to defend Naboo in the hopes of gaining an ally and breaking the Vong forces once and for all. Both hopes were relatively far–fetched, but Leia had set the bar high just so that they couldn't be disappointed by the results.

Even if they won but a minor victory, Leia reasoned, it would be _something_ – if only a setback for the Vong. And even if they couldn't convince the Naboo to join the fight, at least the Alliance would prevent their extinction.

Leia sighed so heavily it was painful.

Time and time again, the Vong had succeeded in backing them into corners, but in the end, the Alliance had always managed to get out of difficult situations. Somehow or another, they always came back to fight another day.

_We've always been rebels, _she thought, smiling faintly as she remembered the old days of the Rebellion. _We've always lived just to die another day._

Now, however, the situation looked bleak.

First of all, they were separated from a good percentage of their force – namely the Imperial Remnant, but a good chunk of the Republic fleet had been scattered as well. Locating them wouldn't be difficult: it would be reuniting that would test their wits. Any communications they sent were sure to be picked up by whatever organic devices the Vong used for relaying orders and observations.

Secondly, they had lost _so many_ during the previous battle, and during the retreat they had suffered large numbers of casualties in skirmishes as well. The fleet had been harassed constantly by daring pockets of Vong coralskippers attacking like pirates all along the way.

_They would randomly drop in on us from deep space without warning. Somehow, they would just _know_ where we were headed. They anticipated our every move._

Everyone had lived in constant fear during the retreat – fear that the Vong would drop in on top of them and slaughter every last one of them.

Leia kneaded her forehead with a fist, feeling exhausted and aggravated with herself for being unable to remain undistracted.

_Enough. This is the first time in days you haven't had to _think_ about what you're doing, and what do you do? You think. Stop it. Relax. Take a deep breath and just… _enjoy_ what you're doing at the moment. Once that's done, you can go back to worrying again._

She lifted her head and forced herself to think nothing.

Out the forward viewport, she relocated the pinpricks of steel and light that were Commander Leroy Corsurge's A-Wing squad. The fighters were nearly impossible to track as they sped through the fleet, twisting, dodging, and weaving around frigates and cruisers.

In the days of her youth, such images of heroism might have taken her breath away. She might once have been awestruck by Commander Corsurge and his pilots as they trained and prepared themselves for war. As a girl, dying in battle had seemed glorious and honorable – the only worthy type of death – and she might have fancied someday marrying a war hero who was strong and respectable, a capable leader and defender.

She smiled wearily – mainly because of the last part.

Han certainly was a hero, and he was a capable leader, but _respectable_?

For Leia, childish dreams had met early deaths. As soon she had turned 14, she had gotten involved in politics. There had been little time for childhood when Galactic Civil war was brewing.

_And then I came to understand that there are no heroes like the ones people imagine. My innocence disappeared all too quickly as I realized how devious people can be – what true liars are and how good they are at their profession._

"Your opinion, Senator?"

She had been thinking again: she had not heard the speaker approach.

Frustrated with herself, Leia turned to confront her addressee.

General Chad Hoffman was a one–armed veteran of the Clone Wars, Civil War, and now the present conflict. The grizzled General had a short beard and unkempt hair that hung level with his shoulder blades. He stood to her immediate right, his remaining arm folded behind his back, standing tall and at a respectful distance.

Leia cleared her throat, still not entirely in the present.

"I have no real expertise in snubfighters, General, but I have to say that I am impressed." She graced him with a smile. "I wouldn't go so far as to insinuate that they have no training left to undergo, however."

Hoffman nodded and turned to watch out the viewport.

"Your assessment is accurate, M'Lady," he grunted. "Commander Corsurge has done an excellent job with them. When they first joined the squadron, half of the trainees didn't even know the difference between a control stick and the steering rudder. The Commander was happy to report yesterday that he lacks only three pilots to have a full wing of twelve now."

Leia smiled wistfully. "Very good. I know Commander Corsurge did not feel entirely up to the task when we first assigned it to him, but I think he has surpassed even his own expectations. I only hope that the unit will be _fully _ready for combat soon. The Vong won't wait for us to prepare for them."

Hoffman twisted his lips into a grimace. "Very true, my lady."

He took a few steps forward, coming to stand before the railing that overlooked the control bay below. Leaning heavily on the durasteel bars, he observed the organized chaos below for a long moment, then turned back to Leia.

Then he said, "Whether they've undergone enough training, whether they've got the guts or not, they'll understand their duty."

He straightened, his eye tracing the flight path Corsurge's A-Wings were following. "I haven't known Commander Corsurge for very long, but I can tell you this: he's a good man, a good pilot, and a damned good fighter. He'll drill the concept of duty into those boys' heads so they won't forget it."

Leia smiled, coming over to join the General at the rail. "I wouldn't have expected anything less."

Neither of the pair spoke again for a long moment, as both of their attentions had returned to the snubfighters drilling outside the viewport. It was easier for Leia not to concentrate with the old General beside her: their conversation had distracted her from unwanted thoughts.

All around them, the bustle of activity never ceased. The _Kiss of Life_'s bridge swarmed with officers and engineers alike as they scurried about their assigned tasks.

Finally, Hoffman spoke again. "Are you prepared for your meeting with the Naboo, M'lady?"

"Prepared to embrace them as my native people?" Leia asked rhetorically. "Yes. Ready to work out treatises and sketch battle plans? No. Everyone knows of the Naboo and their determined neutrality. I just hope that they will be tolerant of military forces within the citadel. They've come to accept our presence in their space, I've been told."

She allowed a heavy sigh to escape her nose. "I need to convince them to support our cause for our short stay here, but I will need to gain the Queen's approval. As for long–term aid, I cannot say as of yet, but the Council is hoping."

A tall man dressed in a stately white admiral's uniform crossed the bridge and came to stand alongside the pair. Admiral Phillip Creel was the _Kiss of Life'_s commanding officer, an powerful and polite man at the age of fifty. He looked no older than thirty-five.

Creel bowed low to Leia and saluted General Hoffman.

"Mistress Solo," the Admiral began. "Commander Corsurge is bringing his fighter squadron back into the hangar now. We thought that you might like the opportunity to speak with him in person."

"It has been too long." Leia smiled and took the arm he offered her. "Lead the way."

Ten minutes and one turbolift ride later, Leia, Hoffman, and Creel entered the _Kiss of Life'_s large and echoing hangar bay – just in time to see the last A-Wing snubfighters come to a gentle rest on the landing pad. Cockpits popped open, and the nine pilots emerged from their fighters, ecstatic from what they seemed to feel had been their best training run yet.

Leroy Corsurge was easy enough to locate: his was one of two A-Wings with TIE fighters painted on the sides (signifying kills) and he looked every bit the leader. He was tall and handsome, and although he couldn't be much older than Leia was, his hair was predominantly silver.

The pilots assembled in two even ranks on the hangar deck, and Leroy approached the trio.

He bowed to Leia as she and her two escorts drew near. "Mistress Solo. I'm pleased to see you again."

Leia accepted the hand that he offered (after hastily wiping it on his flightsuit). "The pleasure is mine, Commander. I'm very impressed by the work you've done here."

"Thank you, my lady." Out of protocol obligation, Leroy turned to Creel and Hoffman, but Leia could see the reluctance in his eyes. "What is your opinion of their finesse, Admiral? General?"

Admiral Creel cleared his throat in a dignified sort of way. "Your squadron is exceptional, Commander. I see great improvement, but they still aren't at the level we want them to be yet. After all, if this stab at a propaganda movement is to be effective, your performance needs to rival that of Rogue Squadron's."

Hoffman said nothing.

Corsurge's smile flickered slightly, but then turned back to Leia. "Allow me to introduce my pilots, if you will."

Leia took his proffered hand and allowed him to walk her forward. Creel and Hoffman aped their steps, keeping a respectful distance.

As they approached, the pilots arranged themselves into a line in front of them, and Leroy's Executive Officer Dano Ven snapped, "Look sharp, lads – you're in the presence of a lady!"

As the pilots snapped to attention, Leia laughed aloud. "I was a lady once, Captain," she said, addressing Dano. "Now I'm just an old diplomat who badly needs a vacation."

"Now, now, Senator," Creel said with a chuckle.

Leia allowed Leroy to guide her over to the lines of pilots and indicated each in turn.

"Of course you've met my executive officer, Captain Dano Ven," Leroy said, indicating the tall man.

Dano inclined his head and smiled respectfully, and Leia returned the gesture.

"This is Lieutenant Cane Roulvecksch."

The evil–looking Shistavanen gave a polite smile – what looked to be a death wish – and bowed low from the waist.

"Seth Joust."

That young man shook dark hair from his eyes and smiled at Leia. She could immediately tell that he was a Corellian by his mannerisms.

_Cocky like Han,_ she thought.

"Farvebacca."

The tallest squad member roared a welcome.

Seeing the gigantic Wookiee brought back memories – both painful and pleasant – of Chewbacca, Han's life–long best friend and partner. Leia sighed wistfully, distracted by happier times long past as Leroy introduced the next pilot as Led Sketz – a stocky man from Courascant.

Han had been so depressed when Chewie had died at the hands of the Yuzzhan Vong. He had sworn never again to abandon his family the way he had, and Leia had no doubt that her husband would keep his promise.

Her thoughts drifted back to the present as Leroy introduced the short, sandy–haired boy as Vick Fleen. Vick reminded Leia strongly of her brother Luke and the naivety he had displayed when they had first met on the Emperor's first Death Star all those years ago. In another lifetime, Fleen could have _been_ Luke, but he lacked the Jedi Master's sparkling blue eyes.

Croutz "Rusty" Yuvahak was a Bothan whose only family had been killed during the desperate – but successful – attempt to steal the battle plans for the first Death Star.

Teneniel Tyra was a small but beautiful woman who looked to be about the same age as Leia's daughter, Jaina. The dark–haired Dathomiri pilot gave off an aura of power for one so small, and Leia felt a distinct ripple in the Force as their eyes locked.

Leroy clapped gloved hands together and turned to Leia. "What did _you_ think of them, my lady?"

His boyish excitement was intoxicating, making Leia smile. "They perform excellently, Commander. I wouldn't say that they're – _ah _– Rogue Squadron material quite yet, but I'm impressed nevertheless."

Leroy smiled easily, amused. "I assumed as much, M'lady."

"Commander, we've all been wondering," Admiral Creel said, coming to stand on Leia's right. "What is the designated title of your squadron?"

Leroy glanced over at Dano, who merely smiled and shrugged. The commander looked back over at Creel and Leia, both of whom were waiting for an answer.

"Actually," Leroy said, "we don't have a proper name yet. As of now, we're going by just Green Squadron… because we're new, I suppose. We'll vote as a squadron on a name when we have a full roster."

"I see," Leia said with a smile. "Well, Commander Corsurge, if _Green _Squadron would be willing to take time out of its busy training schedule, my shuttle needs an escort to the planet's surface."

Leroy snapped a smart salute. His cheeks had paled, but she could tell he was honored by the request. "It would be an honor, Madam."

Leia left Creel's side and embraced the Commander briefly, catching him completely off guard. "Call me Leia, please," she said in his ear. "You are a brother here, Leroy."

She released him and stepped back. "Also, it is my unfortunate duty to inform you that your presence is requested at the Provisional Council meeting planetside."

She was amused by the way his face paled even further. _Just like Han. _"I know you don't like formal ta–dos, but you'll just have to sit this one out. So once we get to Theed, don't go flying off anywhere."

He nodded sharply. "Of course not, M– _Leia_."

Creel stepped forward. His hands were folded at the small of his back. "Commander, you and your squadron are dismissed for the time being. Senator Solo's shuttle departs for Theed in an hour's time. Do not be late."

The pilots filed slowly out of the hangar, and Leia watched them go, thinking wistfully of simpler times and younger days.

* * *

The pilots of Green Squadron met in their debriefing room a half–hour later.

All of them wore their green flight suits with their helmets in tow. Beneath that attire, however, everyone wore their best and both Leroy and Dano had donned the few medals they each had earned.

The Commander situated himself by the holoprojector and waited until all nine pilots had seated themselves. When talk had died away, he smiled and opened his arms wide, taking them all in.

"Greens, you made me proud today. Captain Ven and I just wanted to thank you all for your willingness to serve the Galactic Alliance and formally welcome you all to the squadron."

There was scattered applause from the pilots.

Leroy waited until it had evaporated, then continued. "As we said earlier in the hangar, we don't have a designated title for our unit. So, until further notice, we'll be going by Green Squadron. Permanent call numbers have already been assigned to you, and when we receive our official name, those will stay in place. I trust you can remember them on your own, but they will be painted on the insides of your respective fighters in the event that any of you suffer a memory lapse."

He clapped his hands and rubbed them together briskly. "On a side note, Captain Ven and I _are_ open to any suggestions for the permanent squadron name, however. 'Green Squadron' is a little boring, after all."

Seth Joust snorted from his seat beside Led Sketz in the third row. "And it makes it seem like we have no skill."

"Right you are," Leroy said over the mild laughter. "We are anything _but_ green in that respect. So, without further ado…" He nodded to Dano, and the XO crossed the room and handed Leroy a set of rank strips.

The Commander turned back to the squad. "Flight Officer Sketz, please step forward."

Led looked surprised, but he quickly came up to the front. He saluted Leroy and held the gesture until the Commander returned it.

Leroy extended the rank strips to the scraggly–haired man. "At ease, Mr. Sketz. You are hereby promoted to Lieutenant and given charge of Two-Flight due to good demonstration of skill and responsibility. I am certain that you will uphold this rank dutifully."

Led allowed a small grin, then saluted smartly again. "Thank you, Sir."

"Congratulations, Lieutenant Sketz." Leroy returned the salute in a more casual manner. As Led returned to his seat, the Commander said, "Have a steward droid sew them on for you. Your promotion takes effect the moment we leave this room."

Addressing the remainder of the pilots, Leroy said, "These are your officers: Lieutenant Roulvecksch, Lieutenant Sketz, and Captain Ven besides myself. I don't expect them to have to baby–sit you all, and I needn't remind you that the _Kiss of Life_ _does_ have a brig in case any of you decide to misbehave."

Leroy dug in his pocket for his datapad. "Now. Cabin assignments. Had we a permanent, ground–based HQ, we might have room for all of you to have your own separate cabins. Unfortunately, we don't have that luxury, so you'll just have to learn to get along with each other. Captain Ven and myself will have our own quarters – due to rank and not preference, of course. We have attempted to bunk you all with your wingmates."

He consulted the datapad. "Lieutenant Roulvecksch? You and Lieutenant Sketz are the exception to the rule, because one of you is short a wingmate and the other flies with Ms. Tyra, so the two of you will share cabin 24a. Naturally, Mr. Fleen and Farvebacca will share a room – 25a, gentlemen. Mr. Joust? You'll be bunking with Mr. Yuvahak have 26a."

Seth looked somewhat uncomfortable by being assigned with the Bothan, but Leroy ignored him. Instead, the Commander looked up and found Teneniel Tyra with his eyes. She was sitting next to Vick Fleen in the second row of seats.

"Ms. Tyra? You are currently the only female in the squadron's roster, so you will have cabin 39a to yourself. In the even that any more female pilots join our roster, you will be expected to surrender some of your living space."

She smiled easily. "No problem, Commander. I'm flexible."

Leroy returned the grin. "We all are, and thank you all for that. Once again, I want to express my heartfelt gratitude that you are all here."

He cleared his throat. "Okay. Now to business."

At those words, Dano plugged his datapad into the holoprojector, and it immediately leapt to life, displaying the planet Naboo in midair. The lights in the room were extinguished automatically by the program.

"This mission is just the standard escort role," Leroy began. "One-Flight will take point, half of Two-Flight will fly port, and the other half plus Lieutenant Roulvecksch will fly starboard escort. Keep a good distance of two kilometers and maintain even speed with Senator Solo's shuttle. I don't want any fancy stuff now, so flight leaders will maintain strict formation."

Simultaneous with his words, the orb that was Naboo shifted to a three dimensional outline of Naboo's capital city, Theed. The elegant topography slid by as miniature A-Wings and a shuttle descended to the street–level of the city.

"Once Senator Organa's shuttle lands on the palace grounds, we are expected to make one pass over the city for show, then land in the Theed hangar here."

He indicated the hangar, which was located in the northernmost quadrant of the city – roughly four kilometers from the palace. Leroy clasped his hands at the small of his back as the map disappeared and the lights in the room came back on of their own accord.

"I assume that there will be few questions for a task this simple," he said.

Vick Fleen's hand, however, had risen into the air. "Sir, what will we be doing while the Council meets?"

"To my understanding, Theed is very tourist–friendly," Leroy replied. "There is also a pilot lounge in the hangar where we are scheduled to arrive, and I assume there will be many shops to browse. So long as you are all back in the hangar by 1800 hours, I don't care _where_ the hell you go."

Farvebacca raised a furred paw and growled a series of barks and woofs.

All eyes turned back to Vick; the Tatooine farm boy translated. "Farve questions whether or not you should land _your _A-Wing in the palace hangar with the Senator's shuttle, Commander. After all, you'll be attending the council and the hangar is almost five klicks from the palace."

Leroy shrugged. "We're doing this by the book, my friends, and protocol demands that the squadron leader remain with his pilots. I'll catch an air–taxi."

"Or you could walk," Dano suggested brightly. "You might want to exercise those arthritic joints."

There was a second of awkward silence as the pilots considered the joke – perhaps questioning whether or not it would be appropriate to laugh at such a breach in protocol – and then there was scattered chuckling as Leroy mimed firing a blaster at Dano.

"If there are no further questions, you are dismissed to your fighters," the Commander said to the disconcerted band, brushing silver hair out of his eyes.

Dano clapped his hands together as the pilots stood and began to file out of the room. "Step lively now, lads – we've got a Princess to impress."


	6. Chapter: 5

**Chapter: 5

* * *

**

Theed was an exquisite city – peaceful, complacent, beautiful, and timeless.

Walking through the beautifully designed architecture, the towering edifices of marble and lime, one couldn't help but temporarily forget the war. It seemed that the Naboo designers who had built the grand city of Theed had tried to make their works seem alive, for every stone structure – be it of hard right angles or smooth, irregular curves – seemed to flow and scream of life. Everything _fit_, from the towering statues of the Naboo gods and goddesses to the massive, roaring waterfalls.

In short, Theed was magnificent.

Had the Galactic Alliance arrived during times of peace, their troops might have been met with suspicion and impersonality. The Naboo had always despised hostile presence, abhorring violence. Now, however, their world was endangered, and the people received the Rebels as the heroes that they were.

The citizenry flooded the streets, screaming and cheering their rescuers – thousands upon thousands. It seemed that the entire population of the planet had poured into Theed, if only to catch a glimpse of these unsung heroes.

Leia Organa Solo looked nothing short of radiant, dressed in a flowing gown of scarlet. White streamers trailed from the wide sleeves and a white sash was tied around her waist. She walked on the arm of General Wedge Antilles, a hero of the Galactic Civil War.

Beside and behind the pair came Cal Omas, the Alderaanian Chief of State; Colonel Gavin Darklighter of the famous Rogue Squadron; General Chad Hoffman and Admiral Phillip Creel of the _Kiss of Life_; Master Jedi Luke Skywalker and his wife, Mara Jade Skywalker; Fyor Rodan, a scheming politician; Dif Scaur, director of intelligence; Admiral Traest Kre'frey, a Bothan; and Commander Leroy Corsurge of the newly formed Green Squadron. They made a grand precession, all of them decked out in their best attire.

The throng of countless screaming citizens parted to let their saviors past through their midst, then closed up behind them, herding the individuals towards the Palace. From somewhere in the distance, a band was playing a foreign tune – barely audible above the din – and confetti was thrown in air. Children and adults alike waved and shouted from bridges, high ledges, and second– and third– story windows.

The eight current pilots of Green Squadron mutely followed the precession. A change of plans had them becoming a part of the parade. Each looked distinctly uncomfortable at being in the center of attention, but they marched along in their leaders' wake, nevertheless.

The precession came to a halt at the massive steps to the grand palace. All eyes came to rest on the Queen Janitte of Naboo herself, who stood on the first of two landings in the steps. Behind her were arrayed her ladies–in–waiting, clad in their formal red dress, and the Queen's personal guard. More people lined the massive stairs, but none stood higher than the Queen herself.

The screaming grew in volume as the representatives of the Galactic Alliance mounted the stairs to the Queen's level, then died out completely as each sank to their right knee in a formal bow. The utter silence was now strangely out of place.

The crowded citadel rang with silence.

Queen Janitte blessed the visitors by her gods, then graced each by allowing them to kiss her royal hand.

Utter silence ensued as the visitors were bidden to rise.

The Queen was a sight to behold. Her face was covered with white makeup with the lips a ruby red. Her hair was ornately done up in an upside–down, V–shaped braid which hung over her shoulders. She smiled and approached Leia and Wedge, who had headed the procession.

Janitte embraced Leia, kissed her once on each cheek, then held her at arms length, smiling. In the silence, her words were strangely magnified and everyone in the crowd could hear them.

"Welcome home, sister. You will always be welcome here among your people."

Polite applause erupted from the crowd. The members of the Alliance joined in after a second's hesitation.

Queen Janitte continued, this time addressing the whole of the procession. "We are grateful for your presence here in this time of crisis. Forgive our lack of manners, as we have no means to express our thanks through any type of gifts…"

Leia raised hands to distill regret. "Please, do not apologize. This war has taxed us all. We only hope to lend all possible aid to help your… _our_… people."

She turned to the man on whose arm she leaned. "This is General Wedge Antilles."

Antilles had not changed much since his days with Rogue Squadron. He stood just as tall as he always had and wore his best dress uniform. The only signs that age had begun to affect him were the gray patches at his temples and the crows' feet deepening the lines under his eyes.

Wedge had opted to shave the beard he had grown accustomed to wearing, figuring that would give him a more youthful appearance.

He bowed deeply to the Queen. "It is a pleasure to serve."

Queen Janitte smiled in return, but did not speak.

Leia held out a hand palm–up in the direction of the man to Wedge's left. "Cal Omas, Chief of State."

Omas inclined his head in a bow and clasped his hands together at his waist. "General Antilles has summed up my feelings, my Lady."

Leia indicated the man in the brown Jedi robes and the woman with flaming hair next to him. "My sibling, Luke Skywalker and his wife, Mara Jade Skywalker."

Luke smiled and bowed to the Queen. "The Jedi have made Naboo's protection their priority, Queen Janitte."

The Queen smiled in return. "I have heard many great things about you, Master Skywalker."

Luke's blue eyes glittered. "Merely legends and tales, I am sure, Highness."

Janitte laughed. "Either way, I must assure you that you have our – _my_ – respect." She turned to Mara.

The Jedi woman's arms cradled a small bundle of cloth: Ben Skywalker, barely three months old. The old fire that had always existed in Mara's eyes burned even brighter today, and she seemed all the more stronger, now that the illness had left her body.

The Queen's eyes widened, and she placed both hands on Mara's arm, gazing in wonder at Ben's tiny face. "Gods bless this child," she said softly.

Mara smiled and settled into Luke's one–armed embrace. "Thank you, Highness."

Leia went on to introduce the rest of her companions, starting with Dif Scaur and finally ending with Commander Corsurge and his partial fighter wing. After the introductions had been completed, the Queen turned to her maids and the one Gungan standing behind her and hurried them off into the palace.

This accomplished, she turned back to her guests. "Once again, allow me to express the gratitude all Naboo shares for your presence –"

"_Hey!_"

The shout echoed in the air, startling them all. Thousands of heads turned in wonderment, everyone turning to see a middle–aged man fighting his way through the crowd. The people made no move to stop him – instead, they were stepping aside, letting him through. Some of them were actually cheering again as he made his way towards the palace steps –

The man mounted the stairs three at a time, breathing hard –

– and the Queen's bodyguards leapt into action, three of them converging on the man and stopping him cold in his tracks. The crowd stopped cheering again in an instant, and murmurs ran through the throng.

They had mistaken this would-be assassin for another hero of the Alliance!

The man struggled for a moment, then allowed the guards to begin pushing him back down the stairs. "C'mon, fellas – fighting doesn't always work everything out. I'll buy you all drinks sometime – _Leia!_"

Leia felt the color rise to her cheeks as she recognized the voice.

"Stop!" she said suddenly, hiking up her red skirts and hurrying down the steps towards the struggling men. "Let him go – that's my husband!"

A collective gasp went up from the crowd, and Queen Janitte raised a hand to her lips.

The first guard tried to stop Leia from coming any closer. "Careful, M'Lady – he tried to kill the Queen!"

"I did _not_!" the man shouted indignantly, his face lost amidst the three bodies pressed around him. "_Leia_! Tell them I didn't! I _wouldn't_!"

Leia forced her way between the two guards as Wedge and Leroy Corsurge jumped forward to pull her back –

– and the guards finally yielded, stepping back to allow Leia to see Han Solo's face, sweating from exertion.

He grinned at her. "Hey, I love your family, Leia."

Wedge forced his way into the group, then laughed outright when he saw Solo. "Han! You should know better than to go running at a Queen!"

Leia scowled at her husband. "Yes, he sure knows how to make an entrance, doesn't he?"

Queen Janitte looked utterly confused, as did most of the Alliance representatives and the Theed citizens.

"What is going on?" the monarch demanded, coming down the steps towards the small group. Her ladies–in–waiting hurried to scoop up the trains of her skirts so that they wouldn't drag along the ground.

Leia sighed and turned back to the Queen. "I apologize most _sincerely_, Queen Janitte. This is my husband, Han Solo."

She sent her beloved a glare.

The Queen's eyes widened, seemingly with inexpressible fury. The entire atmosphere in the citadel changed dramatically, and murmurs began rippling through the crowds.

And then Janitte smiled.

And then she laughed.

_Really_ laughed.

Leroy Corsurge covered his eyes with a gloved hand. Wedge was already laughing openly. The rest of the Alliance delegates now joined in, Fyor Rodan being last, along with the three guards who had nearly beaten Han into submission.

Leia looked startled by the turn of events, and she turned to shout at Han, but he gave her that roguish smile that never failed to melt her anger, and suddenly she found herself laughing too. Han opened his arms wide, still smiling, and took her into a big hug.

The citizens in the crowd were laughing too, the story being relayed back and forth to those who had been too far away to see the spectacle, and now the whole plaza was laughing. It was almost as if the war had been won, and that the people were free already.

But as Queen Janitte regained her composure and began to speak again, silence once again fell upon the throng.

"Your reputation proceeds you, General Solo," she said warmly.

Han gave a courteous bow, and Leia found herself both embarrassed by his swagger and pleased that he had not forgotten his manners. "Please forgive my abrupt intrusion. My ship had a… ah… _maintenance_ problem, so I couldn't arrive on schedule."

_Typical. _And yet, Leia couldn't find it in her to remain mad at him.

"There's no need for apologies, General." In the aftermath of her mirth, Queen Janitte's eyes had lost their twinkle and the radiant presence that she had shown seemed to shrink.

She turned and swept an arm up the steps towards the glorious palace above them all.

"Now let us commence the talk that needs to be had," Janitte said, addressing all of the Alliance delegates, "so that future generations might know laughter, just as we have shared. And let us pray that it was not in vain."

* * *

Commander Leroy Corsurge shifted uncomfortably in his seat, longing for the cockpit of his A-Wing, or better yet, his quarters on the _Kiss of Life_.

_Hell, I'd settle to have Dano beside me. Why am I here anyway? I know nothing of politics. The Admirals tell me to blow things up, and so I do it. It's _their_ job to actually _plan_ these things out._

As it was, he had not added a single thing to the conversation as yet, meaning his presence so far had been completely unnecessary.

"…we just need to know how much support you can _give_ us," Fyor Rodan was saying in an aggravated tone. As of the past fifteen minutes, the question had been posted to the queen four times, but Janitte had beaten around the bush, refusing to give a direct answer. Her concern was understandable, but due to present circumstances, seemed out of place.

Rodan had no patience – that had been obvious since his first days in office. The look in the man's eyes was enough to ignite a spark of dislike in Leroy's belly towards the man, but the Commander had to concede the fact that Rodan did get things accomplished.

"Our numbers are not substantial to take on the entirety of the Vong horde, so we will need some assistance – whatever you can give us," the politician continued, speaking slowly – condescending, as though he were addressing a child.

He kept ignoring General Antilles' warning looks and Cal Omas' pleading stare. "There is little time to deliberate, so if you could just give us some round–about figures, or perhaps the names of parties in nearby star systems that could be reached."

Queen Janitte, seated in a high–backed throne situated behind a low table, sighed and steepled her fingertips. "I am sorry, Senator Rodan. I just don't want to see my people die. We have very few weapons and only one wing of starfighters planet-wide. As for soldiers, we have no standing army, save for the few smugglers hiding amongst our population and the fifty members of my personal guard."

Leroy winced. _Not a lot of help there. _But it was better than nothing.

Rodan kneaded his forehead as though he was experiencing a migraine, and a tense silence filled the air for the space of eight seconds.

General Antilles leaned forward in his couch, his lined face passive. "I'm afraid that we may have to take advantage of your starfighter wing," he said softly. "We will use them _only_ as emergency reserves, but if the need arises, they will be utilized."

Janitte nodded. "I understand."

Rodan spoke again. "What about supplies? Can you lend any foodstuffs? Shelter? Medical?"

Janitte's Gungan aide, who had been introduced to the Alliance diplomats as Kam Swenson, was seated in a round couch close to Janitte's side. He raised a pink–fleshed hand and spoke in a squeaking voice that instantly drove a spike of irritation through Leroy's brain.

"Wesa believe that wesa can help yous in this regard," the Gungan began, "but wesa is wondering how long armed forces will be staying in the citadel?"

The question was directed at Rodan, but he had no authority over troop occupation. He glanced at Wedge, deferring the question to the General.

Antilles pursed his lips and replied in turn. "Out of courtesy to you and your people, we will keep all ground troops in makeshift shelters on the plains outside of Theed, so you will not have to worry about housing them."

The general shifted in his seat. "They have their own mealkits, so rations shouldn't be a problem unless we're here for longer than two weeks." He must have seen the Queen's brief wince, because he quickly added, "But it is our intention to make certain that we don't overstay our welcome. Our soldiers will be removed the moment the Vong have been driven off."

Still unsatisfied, the Gungan pursued the subject. "And what if yousa's soldiers are unruly? Wesa no want to deal with them."

Admiral Creel spoke from his seat beside Gavin Darklighter. "If any stormtrooper misbehaves or disobeys orders, I can assure you that individuals responsible will be confined and later court–martialed. The Galactic Alliance will pay for any damages caused or for medical operations if it is necessary."

"It won't come to that," Wedge said firmly, his jaw set. "The Alliance soldiers – and the Imperials for that matter – know their duty, and even more, what is at stake here. No one's really willing to lose sight of that, or they risk losing their will to go on. I, for one, fear no sort of disturbance."

Queen Janitte nodded. "Nor do I. Now, what will come of our alliance after the Vong have been repulsed? Will we still be regarded as part of the Galactic Alliance and called upon for aid in the future?"

Cal Omas shook his head and scooted forward in his seat. "If you fear that we'll hold this pact as binding and call upon Naboo to finally take up a side after years of neutrality, you are only suspicious of Wampas under your bed. We will not count you as part of the Republic worlds, and if there is ever another circumstance such as we face now, we will not call on you to provide arms, foodstuffs, troops, or anything else for that matter."

The Alderaanian smiled. "My planet was once as Naboo is now. I understand your concern and will make sure that nothing you fear comes to pass."

Leia gave the Chief of State a smile. "Chief Omas speaks truly, Queen. If you desire any ties made to be severed once this crisis has passed, then we shall most certainly make sure of it."

Janitte nodded with regal gratitude.

The Gungan, Swenson, spoke again, diverting the subject once more. "What is yousa's battle strategy? If it involves fighting in wesa's streets, wesa must protest."

Leia extended her left hand towards Wedge Antilles. "General, if you please?"

All eyes turned to him as Wedge got to his feet. He fumbled in his pocket and pulled out a datapad, then gestured towards the holoprojector built into the floor around which they all sat.

"If I may?" he asked the Queen.

Janitte nodded, and Wedge bent down and plugged the datapad into the projector. Immediately, the lights in the audience chamber were doused, and a sphere of color, representing Naboo, suddenly began rotating above the projector.

"Currently, our fleet is positioned here." Wedge pointed, and a multitude of dots appeared on the dayside of the planet. "The bulk of our numbers are snubfighters, but we do have two Super Star Destroyers, three Interdictor–class, and four standard. We also have two Mon Cal Cruisers and five Carrack Light-class cruisers. Aside from the professional fighter wings, we also have three elite squads ready to be scrambled – Rogue Squadron, Twin Suns squad, and one in training."

Wedge trailed off and turned to look at Leroy. "Commander Corsurge, what is the designation of your fighter group?"

Leroy blushed as all eyes turned to him, and he straightened in his couch. "Uh, we have no permanent title yet, General. As of now we're just being called Green Squadron."

Wedge smiled. "Reminds me of my days with the Wraiths. Thank you, Commander." He turned back to the holoprojector. "Commander Corsurge's Green Squadron completes our arsenal. Now, our attack plan."

Antilles turned and looked at the man seated between Leroy and Cal Omas. "Mr. Scaur is head of our intelligence. You have the floor, Mr. Scaur, if you please?"

Dif Scaur nodded once and rose to his feet. "Our sensors and scoutships have determined that the Vong are rapidly approaching us from the general direction of Falleen." As he spoke, a mass of glowing dots appeared on the opposite side of the pseudo-planet from where the fleet was located. Many, many more than represented the Alliance numbers.

"They will most likely make attempts at a ground assault. This conclusion has been gleaned from the massive numbers of landships among the enemy fighters. We have determined their numbers to be drastically more than our own, but that ratio does not include the forces of the Imperial Remnant."

Scaur looked back to Wedge. "General?"

Wedge must have seen both Queen Janitte and her Gungan Senator stiffen at the mention of a ground assault, because he turned to them again as Scaur seated himself again. "There is no need to fear ground attack, we hope. Our plan is to use the planet to our advantage. We will split the fleet and move half of it around Naboo's dayside, half, through its nightside. Our snubfighters will ensure that no landing craft touch down, so I must warn you that there will most likely be some fighting in the lower troposphere.

"In the event that some Yuzzhan Vong touch down on the planet, what ground forces we have will be dispatched to the location. Also, Master Skywalker has volunteered his Jedi to stay on the ground and fight as well. All of these will be on standby, ready to receive coordinates for their attack."

Luke, who had listened to the meeting in a state of complete silence, nodded once to this announcement. "We will not be quick to shed blood, M'Lady, but if it must be done, then we shall perform our task in due time."

Queen Janitte rested her head against the back of her throne and closed her eyes. "We haven't had a war on Naboo since before the Clone Wars."

"And it is our intention to have it remain that way," Wedge said, drawing attention back to the projector. "Now, we already know that we alone do not have enough ships to completely destroy the Vong as it stands. Our hope is that the Imperial forces under Grand Admiral Gilad Pallaeon will arrive about halfway through the battle."

Another group of dots appeared, these directly behind the Vong. "Admiral Pallaeon – as we have planned via what limited communications we've risked – will strike from Rodia, and hopefully we will catch the Vong in a net. Assuming that our enemy does not have a Yammosk to coordinate their attacks, things will go smoothly."

"Our scouts have returned negative for any sign of a Yammosk, General Antilles," Scaur affirmed.

_Thank the gods._ For a moment, Leroy thought he might have murmured his gratitude aloud and quickly looked around to see if anyone had heard.

Wedge turned to the Queen as the lights in the chamber came back up and the map of Naboo space disappeared. "Does this plan meet with your approval, M'Lady?"

Janitte frowned. "It doesn't allow much room for error, but I am confident in your abilities. It's the best we've got, and since we have no forces to add to your numbers, I have no right to argue your plans."

Wedge bowed to the Queen and returned to his seat.

The Gungan cleared his throat. "Before this meeting is concluded, wesa have a few requests to be made."

Leia settled back in her couch. Han, seated next to her, sought her hand and held it in one of his own.

Leia nodded to the Queen. "Please."

"First," the Gungan said, "Wesa need to be informed of all that is going on. Yousas won't be keeping wesas in the dark, okeday?"

_Gods,_ Leroy thought in aggravation, praying he'd never encounter a Gungan ever again in his lifetime.

Dif Scaur nodded, apparently indifferent to Swenson's annoying habit of speaking. "Of course. Any new intelligence we gather, we'll send directly to you."

"Good," Swenson said. "Secondly, wesa is wanting a pilot to fly in yousa's Rogue Squadron."

Leroy drew his brows together in surprise. _What?_

He glanced at the rest of the diplomats and noticed similar reactions amongst them all – most notably in Colonel Darklighter and General Antilles.

Wedge cleared his throat and sat up straighter in his seat. "You want a pilot in Rogue Squadron? Why?"

Queen Janitte sighed. "My daughter is impetuous and has demanded to be allowed to take part in the battle. Her views of society are not the same as mine, and she has no love for sitting by idly. Please accept her into your squadron."

Colonel Gavin Darklighter licked his lips and leaned forward. "Pardon me, M'Lady, but there are several complications here. One, has your daughter any experience in a snubfighter?"

Janitte nodded. "She has flown with our wing of starfighters before, but not in conflict."

Leroy winced. _Strike one._

Gavin chewed his lower lip, trying to find the best way to refuse the request diplomatically. "Two, there isn't any room in the Rogue Squadron roster. I apologize, but all twelve slots are filled."

"As it is for Twin Suns," Luke Skywalker added. "If your daughter is to be involved in the conflict, would you not prefer her to be with the ground troops? If you would like, she can be brought under the Jedi's protection."

"Thank you, Master Jedi, but no. She has no experience in that area and she would become a bother to you. What about any of the professional squadrons, General Antilles? Is there any room in –?"

"Queen Janitte?" Leroy had risen to his feet before he even knew what he was doing. He bowed low to her, then continued. "Pardon my interruption, but Green Squadron is currently three pilots short of a full roster. My XO and I will have to put your daughter through extensive training, but… we would be happy to have her."

He glanced at Wedge, and gained confidence from the General's nod of approval.

"As it is, we're _all_ undergoing some crash courses already," Leroy concluded.

Queen Janitte cocked her head to one side. "You will take responsibility for my daughter's life, Commander?"

Leroy swallowed. "Of course, M'Lady."

Janitte smiled. "Thank you, Commander. My daughter will be pleased. She has the utmost respect for authority and will gladly undergo the most rigorous of training in order to be fit for the squadron."

Leia gave Leroy a small smile as he sat back down, and the Commander returned it weakly.

_Didn't think before you dove into _that _one, did you, Leroy? Almost made a complete idiot of yourself there, all because you leapt without looking. Can't fly without sensors here, old boy._

Leia turned back to the queen. "Will that be all, my Lady?"

The Queen nodded. "For now. Thank you all again for your patience. Let us put this plan into action and pray that the Imperial forces arrive on time."

The Alliance delegates all got to their feet, and the Gungan helped the Queen to hers. Janitte beckoned to Leroy and Wedge in turn.

"Come with me, and I will introduce you to my daughter, Commander. General, I would introduce _you_ to the Defender Wing pilots. Maybe with our combined strengths, we can finally bring these Yuzzhan Vong invaders to their knees."

* * *

_These ships are built for show, not combat._

General Wedge Antilles frowned as he and Gavin Darklighter followed the Naboo Captain Bynuard on their tour of the palace hangar.

_They almost seem too delicate to fly at all._

Bynuard was a quiet man, tall and with finely chiseled features. He stood about an inch shorter than Gavin, two shorter than Wedge, but his authoritative mannerisms kept him from being dwarfed by the two warriors.

"Defender Wing has never been used for combat purposes, only as escorts," Bynuard was saying. "My six pilots have been trained in combat, but only one of them has actually seen action – he is not native to Naboo."

_Not going to serve too much purpose but fodder for the Vong guns. Unless they've got the speed._

Shaped almost like boomerangs, the Xj71s were painted yellow with silver trim and consisted of approximately the same mass as a Y-Wing. In terms of speed, the Xjs boasted engines that could put them at speeds equivalent to those of a TIE interceptor. Their arsenals consisted of two laser cannons mounted in the nose of the fighter, directly in front of the cockpit, but no missiles or warheads of any type.

_I guess the pilots will have to make up in skill what they lack in firepower._

Wedge glanced at Gavin, his longtime friend, and arched an eyebrow. The Colonel grimaced in return, showing that his feelings towards the Defenders was one of skepticism as well.

_If we actually have to utilize them, I don't think that the Vong will find them worthy of conflict,_ Wedge mused._ They'll slaughter them._

Bynuard seemed to sense that his tourists were preoccupied and he stopped to look at them. "Sirs, I know that this group is not much, but it is all we have. You must understand that we have not seen real conflict here on Naboo since the Clone Wars."

Wedge held up his hands. "I understand, Captain, I am merely speculating that your wing will need some… _ah_… informal training."

He gestured towards Gavin. "I'm sure that Colonel Darklighter would be happy to have your pilots fly against some of his Rogues to polish up their skills."

Gavin nodded. "Certainly. If it will keep them alive, then gladly."

Bynuard nodded solemnly. "Thank you, Colonel. Once you've seen the way my pilots can fly, you will see that they won't let you down."

Wedge sighed. "For all our sakes, I hope so. Otherwise, when the time comes, they'll just be fodder for the Vong guns, just like the rest of us."

Bynuard grinned roguishly. "Then, the Vong will find us bitter to chew. May I ask you something, General?"

Wedge, who had been looking the Xj's over, turned back to the Captain. "Of course."

The shorter pilot didn't answer immediately. Folding his hands at the small of his back, he gazed out of the hangar and into the sunlit sky. Finally, he spoke, keeping his gaze even with Wedge's.

"What was it like the first time you flew in combat, General?"

Wedge was slightly taken aback by the question, and he had to actually think to remember.

_It seems like so long ago. My first _real _dogfight was at the Death Star over Yavin._

A flashback set itself in his mind, and he remembered his white–knuckled grip on the X-Wing's steering yoke as he stared out at the massive black hulk that was the Death Star. The station had seemed invincible – just like the Empire itself – and all he could think about was Corellia and his family, and friends like Tycho Celchu, whom he would never see again.

"Look at the _size_ of that thing," he remembered saying, watching the Death Star grow bigger and bigger.

_Right before Dave told me to pay attention to what I was doing. I was just a boy trying to be a hero._

Wedge looked up at Bynuard again, realizing that the man was waiting for him to answer.

"I see what you mean. The emotion I felt when I first flew was mixed fear and invincibility, and truth be told, I gave the enemy hell." A quick look at Gavin told Wedge that the Colonel had been taken back to _his_ early days with Rogue Squadron as well.

Wedge stepped forward and clapped a hand on Captain Byunard's broad shoulder.

"Your boys will do fine," the General said, smiling down at the shorter man. "Together, we'll make the Vong regret ever backing us into _this_ corner."


	7. Chapter: 6

**Chapter: 6

* * *

**

Queen Janitte's daughter was not any of the things Leroy Corsurge had expected her to be.

As a Commander, it was his job to categorize his pilots into rankings of skill and discipline, and forming biases tended to help make that process simpler, even if it was frustrating to people like Seth Joust.

First of all, Leroy assumed that the Princess would be rebellious and stubborn.

From the Queen's brief description of her daughter's views, Leroy had immediately suspected that Princess Loreli d'Accorde was the female equivalent of the young man _he_ had once been – running away from home to join the Naval Academy just because his parents didn't believe in fighting.

But just because their views weren't entirely the same, didn't mean that mother and daughter had had some sort of radical falling–out. Quite to the contrary, Loreli had a very good relationship with Queen Janitte, and that was surprising to say the least.

The second thing Leroy had expected was that the girl would be a snob, the typical pampered daughter of royalty. However, Loreli was not that either. She was polite and respectful, and wasn't the type of girl who was afraid to get her hands dirty. In that regard, she was almost like Princess Leia herself.

Thirdly, Leroy had expected her to be a novice in the ways of snubfighter tactics. In taking her into the squadron, he had assumed that he and Dano would have their hands full for several weeks, putting Loreli through extensive, fast–forwarded training.

But although she didn't quite rank up to the likes of Seth Joust, Loreli certainly wasn't a novice pilot. Aside from what informal training she already possessed, the Princess had a good sense of judgment and a keen awareness of what was going on around her. While she wasn't a superb shot and some of her flying skills were questionable, she wasn't at all a rookie.

In short, she had exceeded all of Leroy's expectations.

Dano was impressed too. By the end of their first sim run with Loreli, the XO's opinion – which ahd been remarkably similar to Leroy's in most respects – had altered dramatically, and he cordially welcomed Loreli to the squadron.

Within the three days following the Provisional Council meeting in Theed, Green Squadron accepted into its fold the last two pilots necessary for a full wing – a fact that served to lighten Leroy's apprehension over the approaching battle.

Sella Ruvek'astak was a Twi'lek who had killed her slaver master and fled to the Rebel Alliance during the days when they were still fighting the Empire. She was skilled with Y-Wings and X-Wings, but caught on easily enough to the design of the A-Wing, which was similar in most respects. She had also flown in one minor engagement with the Vong.

Kitsy Reaffe was a young girl from Dantooine. She had been born during the last days of the Empire, and replaced Vick as the youngest pilot in Green Squadron. At only 19, she was three years younger than Seth, only one younger than Vick.

At first, Dano had protested her admittance to the squadron, arguing that she was too young to be involved in the mess that was the war with the Yuzzhan Vong. Leroy had felt the same and almost dismissed the girl without a trial, but she had convinced them to let her run once in the sim.

In the _Ambush_ scenario, she had cleaned up the opposition, tallying five kills while Dano and Seth only got one each, leaving Cane with zero. The girl was a natural, a fact that Leroy couldn't deny. And, considering that she _was_ an adult – though barely – he couldn't bring himself to hold her back.

Kitsy became Green 12.

The occupation of Naboo commenced as planned. The Alliance's 5000 ground troopers were set down four days after the Council meeting, along with Luke Skywalker and his contingent of eight Jedi masters – not including his pregnant wife.

The people of Theed had taken up the task of providing for these soldiers less than reluctantly, and this was a good omen. Occupation had been one of the chief worries of the Provisional Council, and now that the matter was settled, they were that much closer to finishing the race.

Everything now depended upon the Vong. Whenever they chose to attack, that would be the day of their destruction. Morale ran high among the New Republic forces, especially within the pilots of Green Squadron. Their days were spent in the simulators, their nights in the lounges, and despite the seeming monotony of this schedule, no one complained in the slightest, and activity outside the mundane remained minimal.

That was why Leroy was utterly surprised when he was summoned by General Hoffman to the bridge on _Kiss of Life_ without forewarning or any explanation. Hoffman had said nothing as to _why_ Leroy was being summoned, only that whatever it was that he wished to discuss pertained to the squadron.

The _way_ he'd said it had left Leroy with a feeling of unease, and as he waited in the turbolift, the Commander wracked his brain for anything that could have gone wrong. It was possible that some of the pilots had gotten into trouble outside of his notice, but it wouldn't quite make sense at the current time.

_Still, the last thing I need now is a court–martial._

Leroy straightened his uniform as the turbolift doors whooshed open, revealing the spacious bridge bustling with activity. Dodging a technician carrying a stack of tools, the Commander stepped out of the lift and strode briskly towards the center of the room.

Hoffman stood by the holoprojector at the nucleus of the bridge, observing a rotating map of Naboo, his one arm folded behind his back.

Leroy stopped behind of the General and snapped into a salute. "You requested to see me, Sir?"

Hoffman turned to face Leroy and returned the salute lightly. "At ease, Commander," he said with a small smile. "Yes, I wanted to speak to you about a matter that concerns me."

Leroy clasped his hands at the small of his back, hoping that his agitation didn't show. _Here we go._

He arranged his face to an impassive mask, unconcerned and indifferent. "What is it, Sir?"

Hoffman removed a datapad from a pocket and plugged it into the holoprojector. A moment later, holographic representations of twisted container transports replaced the map of Naboo. These had been damaged in battle, Leroy assumed, owing to the burn scars across their hulls and the gaping wounds in their sides.

_Vong plasma, _he thought. _The most destructive weapon since our warheads._

Hoffman turned back to Leroy. "These containers carried bacta up until approximately two standard hours ago when their loads were transferred to the _Lusankya_'s holding bay. The containers were to be destroyed due to obvious damages, but I convinced Admiral Creel to let me keep them."

Leroy saw where he was going. He grinned, partly relieved and partly pleased at the opportunity Creel was giving him.

"Thank you, Sir," he said, coming to attention. "I'll have my squadron suited up within fifteen minutes."

Hoffman returned the salute with his single hand. "Dismissed, Commander."

* * *

Seth Joust's muscles were straining so hard he was sure they would burst. He could feel the sweat trickling down his back and lying heavy on his forehead.

What he had set out to accomplish hadn't seemed like such a difficult feat, a task that he could easily have overcome. Now, in retrospect, he saw the error in his ways. He shouldn't have risen to the bait, or at least shown some better judgment.

"Come on Seth!"

"Come on, man, I have money on you!"

"Don't let him push you over –!"

"Led, do him in and be finished with it!"

Lieutenant Led Sketz was a stocky man, short and powerful. To look at him, one would have immediately thought him a substantial match for Seth Joust, a sturdy Corellian whose muscular build was the envy of nearly all males his age. And perhaps that was why the challenge had been such a temptation to Seth.

It was simply the alpha–male need to cast down an equal, to prove himself superior.

Led grinned at Seth, pushed harder, just to show the younger man that he was still fighting.

They were sitting across from each other at a table in the _Kiss of Life_'s main cafeteria. They were locked in a furious arm wrestle, one that seemed to have no winner: neither had budged since the beginning of the contest roughly four minutes ago.

The other pilots of Green Squadron were clustered around the table, egging on their favored competitor with shouts of encouragement that were attracting the attention of the other sentient beings within the dim cafeteria.

"You got him now, Led! Keep going!"

"Give it to him, Seth! C'mon, this one should be easy for you."

Seth found their encouragement a mild annoyance, only a distraction. Shutting his squadmates' presences out, he gave Led a testing push.

Led returned it with one of his own, managing to inch the younger pilot's arm back a few centimeters. He blew a drop of sweat from the tip of his large nose.

"C'mon, Seth," he taunted breathlessly. "You've got me now."

_Bastard._

Seth grinned, gave another push to regain lost ground.

He had grown up with this sort of contest amongst his peers, and he knew that he could beat Led, assuming that the larger pilot had less endurance. This was more than a test of physical strength: it was a test of wills to see who had the willpower enough to keep fighting back.

Led pushed.

Seth pushed back – harder.

And then, he sensed it. Led's palm twitched, and his grip slackened slightly.

It was only a minor change, but Seth knew that he had the older pilot. He quickly pushed, this time harder than the previous attempts, and found that his assessment was correct.

_He's done. I've got him now._

Led gave first an inch.

Then two inches. Then three.

The cheering of their companions grew in volume, encouraging, critical. Seth continued to ignore them as Led struggled against the younger pilot's sudden attack.

The Lieutenant's entire arm was trembling now. Sweat ran in rivulets down the veins that stood out vividly in his wrist and inside the crook of his fleshy elbow. Led closed his eyes, breathing deeply through his nostrils, sweat quivering in droplets on his face as he fought with all his might –

Seth glanced up at the older pilot's face and saw the older man's jaw clench. The Corellian forced the stocky man's arm further down as the shouts of his favorers grew in volume. Grunting, he gave one last push, knowing it was over –

– and thought he had hit a brick wall.

Seth felt his jaw drop in amazement as Led's arm stopped trembling and set itself, stopping Seth's advance cold. He glanced up at the older pilot, saw Led's eyes flash open and his grin return. Then, with an almighty push, he catapulted the younger pilot's arm backwards.

The back of his hand had already slapped the table before Seth even realized what had happened.

Led grinned, elated, and slumped back against the seat. His supporters cheered in triumph, and credit notes were handed over to the bet–winners.

Seth slumped back in his seat as well. "You were bluffing?" he panted.

Led shrugged, his chest heaving as Cane patted him repeatedly on his beefy shoulder. "I knew you'd fall for it." The Lieutenant grinned and attempted to make a muscle, but found that his arm was too tired, so he let the limb flow back into his lap – like so much rubber.

The rest of the Greens laughed, then began calling Led's next challenger.

Farvebacca dropped onto the bench next to Seth and bodily forced the smaller pilot further down into the booth, ignoring the Corellian boy's protests. The Wookiee growled something deep in his throat and extended his furry paw towards Led. As the meaning was clear, no one needed Vick to interpret, and everyone dissolved into laughter again.

Chuckling, Led held up his hands weakly. "No thanks, Farve. I think you'd tear my arm off."

The Wookiee chuffed in laughter, and growled something.

Vick leaned over the back of Led's seat. "He just called you a chicken, Lieutenant." His tone suggested that he wished to stir up some trouble. "You're not going to let him get a_way_ with that, are you?"

Led crossed his arms over his chest. "Ohh, a threat now, eh?" He laughed. "We'll just have to match wits in the simulator then, Farve, since an arm wrestle between us just wouldn't be a fair match."

"You'll get that opportunity soon enough, Lieutenant."

All ten pilots leapt to attention at the sound of Leroy Corsurge's voice. Farvebacca banged his furry knees hard on the underside of the table as he stood up abruptly, but stood at attention without complaint.

Seth gritted his teeth to keep from laughing, and could tell – out of his peripheral vision – that Vick and Teneniel Tyra were struggling to maintain their composure as well.

Commander Corsurge arched an eyebrow, eyeing Seth's and Led's sweaty appearances. The Commander and Dano Ven stood next to each other, both dressed in their green pilot suits. How much of the contest the superiors had seen, no one could be certain.

"Having fun, Mr. Joust?" Corsurge asked finally. "Lieutenant?"

Seth shook his head at the same time Led nodded. "Yes, Sir," "No, Sir," they said in unison.

This was followed by an unbearably awkward pause as Leroy searched each man's expression. Then the Commander laughed, and the sudden tension that had befallen the pilots evaporated almost instantly.

"Well you'd better make up your minds if you're going to continue in the future," Corsurge said lightly. "Now, I want everyone in uniform, down in the hangar, and ready for takeoff within the next twenty minutes. Am I understood?"

"Yes, Sir," the ten pilots said in unison.

"Good. Dismissed." Corsurge turned and left the cafeteria.

Dano stayed behind a moment later, grinning as he looked back and forth between Seth and Led. "Who won, Lieutenant?" he asked the shorter man.

Led glanced at Seth to see his reaction, but the younger pilot didn't meet his eyes. Seth could feel his face burning with humiliation, and he looked at the floor as Led replied, "Me, Sir."

Dano chuckled and shook his head. "Well done, Lieutenant. Well done."

Rusty Yuvahak stepped forward. "Sir?"

Seth looked up in time to see the Captain raise his eyebrows at the Bothan, inviting the forthcoming question.

"Is this a drill, Sir?" Rusty asked.

"Considering the mild temperament of Commander Corsurge, I'll leave that up to your discernment, Mr. Yuvahak." Dano winked at the Bothan, then turned on his heel and exited the cafeteria in Commander Corsurge's wake.

They watched him leave, and then Teneniel voiced an opinion. "Has anyone else noticed that Captain Ven has a strange sense of humor?"

There were affirmative murmurs from the group – from everyone except the three new women, who had remained removed from all the excitement. The Twi'lek called Sella, the Princess d'Accorde, and the teenager from Dantooine – Kitsy.

They were all very attractive, Seth suddenly realized, and he momentarily wondered whether Dano had personally selected them for the squad, or whether they had been randomly screened.

_What are the odds?_

"No sense standing around," Cane Roulvecksch said finally, breaking the silence.

Instantly, they were all moving towards the cafeteria exit.

* * *

_Feels good to be back in the cockpit again_.

Leroy flipped on the A-Wing's main monitor, then keyed his comm as he waited for the engines to warm. "Hangar Control, this is Green Leader. My squadron is a–go. Requesting hangar doors be opened."

"Understood, Green Leader," the voice came back. "Happy hunting."

"Thank you, control." Leroy switched the comm. back to the Green Squadron frequency, then took the pilot stick in his hand. "Let's go, Green Squad. Keep in mind that these A-Wings cost our superiors significant credits, so try not to scratch them."

Lieutenant Sketz: "Lead? Five."

"Go ahead, Five," Leroy said.

"This is going to be our first in–space flight where we actually discharge our weaponry, correct?"

Actually, it was Sella Ruvek'astack and Kitsy Reaffe's very first in–space flight with Green Squadron – discharging weapons or otherwise.

Leroy smiled. "You're one for one, Lieutenant."

Led cleared his throat, perhaps nervously. "Have we any handicaps, or are we completely live?"

"No restrictions, Lieutenant," Leroy replied, thumbing his targeting computer to life and pulling up the readout of the A-wing's weaponry. "Cannons are fully charged and operational. Unless the techs screwed us over."

"I see." Sketz cleared his throat again. "Sir, I'd request some words of warning for the less experienced pilots concerning the discharging of weaponry."

Dano's voice cut through the instant protests – namely from Vick, Sella, and Kitsy Reaffe. "Of course, Lieutenant," the XO said loudly. "Greens: don't shoot Green Five. Everyone else is fair game."

Farvebacca's howl of unintelligible laughter drowned everyone else's out.

Smiling, Leroy keyed his comm once more. "Will that be all, Lieutenant?"

"Affirmative, Sir," Sketz replied, amusement lightening his tone.

"Right," Leroy said. "Five's concern is duly noted. Greens, I feel the pressing need to caution you all against unnecessary firing. Vape a companion, and it won't just be the cost of a new A-Wing on your hands. Alright – if no one else has anything to say, let's do this thing."

When no one voiced any further concerns, Leroy gently tugged the flightstick and felt the familiar thrill in his stomach region as the A-Wing slowly lifted off the landing pad. Out the cockpit, he could see the other fighters slowly rising and rotating to face the gaping hangar doors.

"Green Leader, away," he said into the comm, and nudged the throttle. The A-Wing leapt forward and Leroy guided the fighter smoothly out of the hangar.

The blackness of space surrounded him abruptly, infinite in all directions. For a moment, he gazed at Naboo and her star system, relishing a sudden sense of freedomat flying again.

Recovering himself, the Commander keyed his comm again. "One-Flight, form up on me. Two- and Three-Flights, form up on your respective leaders. I'm sending you all destination coordinates now."

He heard the other pilots acknowledge his orders, then glanced at his sensor board to watch them comply. He saw Dano, Seth, and Rusty bring their A-Wings into positions aft and starboard of his own snubfighter, and the green dots on the sensor board corresponded with the other actions he wanted to see.

Leroy opened up the throttle and sent the A-Wing tearing across space. After checking to be sure that the rest of the squadron was with him, he keyed the comm once again.

"Mission is simple, Greens. General Hoffman wants the trash taken out, so we're going to comply."

"Leader? Three." Seth sounded distinctly annoyed. "Since when have _we_ been trashmen?"

"Since I said so, Three." Despite the apparent innocence of Seth's question, Leroy still wasn't pleased with the Corellian's overall attitude, so he let steel sharpen the edge his words carried. "When we reach the rendezvous point, cut throttle to zero and await further orders. Understood, flight leaders?"

Lieutenants Sketz and Roulvecksch all radioed back in the affirmative.

Leroy reached out with a gloved hand and adjusted the frequency to the private one he shared with his XO. "Dano, you read?"

"Loud and clear, One."

"Okay. I'm sending you a targeting program via sensor relay. Send it out to the rest of the squad when you get it, and make sure they know that they are to utilize it. Trashed containers and slagged freighters have been tagged with points and dropped in space between oh-three-eight-five and nine-oh-seven-six. Each Flight will take one pass, get as much as they can while maintaining formation."

Basically, it was a test of the Flight Leaders' leadership capabilities and their Wings' abilities to follow orders.

"Simple enough drill," Dano said.

"You got it." Leroy switched back to the squadron frequency in time to hear Seth's next comment.

"That is a _lot_ of shit."

Some of the other pilots laughed, and even Leroy had to agree with Seth's opinion.

Twisted remains of freighters, shattered bulkheads, crushed pieces of snubfighters, and even the wasted hull of a cruiser had been town several kilometers from the fleet by tugs. While he knew that this would be a good exercise, Leroy couldn't help but regret the number of deaths that had occurred when these ships had been destroyed.

He sighed, shaking dark thoughts away, and reached for the throttle. He cut his velocity in half as he waited for Two- and Three-Flights to catch up, then killed it altogether. The thrumming of the engine was replaced with an eerie tranquility instilled by the vacuum of space.

Leroy waited until the rest of Green Squadron was arrayed, then glanced out his cockpit at Dano's snubfighter – to his immediate starboard. He nodded and saw Dano's head nod in return.

"Show them the ropes, Two," he said.

"Affirmative," Dano replied. "Okay, Greens, this is the way the cookie crumbles. Three-Flight will make the first pass through the debris. Clear out as much of it as you can _without_ coming out of formation. If the need presents itself, by all means, do so. However, points _will_ be deducted from your scores.

"Now. You will notice that none of your A-Wings have had their share of concussion missiles reloaded. That was purposeful and not a tech slip–up. It would be a waste of warheads to use them on this crap, so you'll just have to live with it.

"Also, you will all have received the special targeting software by now. Utilize it. It will tell you your current score and will also relay these scores back to Commander Corsurge for future reference."

"Two? Nine." Cane's snarl was distorted into a menacing growl by static. "Will these points be added to our sim scores?"

"Affirmative, Nine," Leroy answered for Dano. "So all of you had better do your best. Your flight is clear to start its run, Lieutenant. Remember the rules, and happy hunting."

"Thank you, Commander," Cane growled. "Three-Flight, throttle up and get to it!"

The Shistavanen's flight, consisting of his wingmate, Sella Ruvek'astack, Kitsy Reaffe and Loreli d'Accorde besides himself, vectored away from the rest of the squad. The thruster wash of their A-Wings flared from blue to orange as they accelerated into the debris field.

"Do you think it was a mistake giving the Shistavanen all the women, Lead?" Dano asked pensively.

"What am _I_, Captain?" Teneniel Tyra asked indignantly.

"Apologies, Six," Dano replied mildly.

"We'll discuss that later, Number One," Leroy said, chuckling.

The pilots fell silent, watching their companions in Three–Flight zero in on their targets. Just before they had reached the first twisted cruiser, Vick Fleen's voice crackled over the comm. "Save some for the rest of us, Nine."

* * *

"Switch comm channel to Three–Flight frequency," Lieutenant Roulvecksch ordered.

Loreli d'Accorde panicked as she surveyed the instrument panel and couldn't remember which switch would change the frequency. For a moment, she stared helplessly at the comm unit, praying that she wouldn't have to radio for help, and then it came back to her.

Relieved, she flipped the switch and heard the audible pop in her headset.

"Worried we'll get distracted, Nine?" Sella asked, her tone retaining humor even through the static.

Roulvecksch snorted a laugh. "Well–spotted, Ten. Stay tight, and let's impress the Commander."

Both Kitsy and Sella voiced their affirmatives, but Loreli kept her mouth shut. She had always been the introspective type, quiet and quaint, and only speaking when necessity demanded it.

Besides, it was awkward being a Princess amongst commoners – not that she viewed herself as such or desired to be treated any differently. In fact, she would have loved more than anything to fit into her squadmates' social strata – if only to feel more accepted.

Granted, no one had given her a hard time about her royal descent – not that she had expected to receive any flak over it – but they definitely treated her differently, whether or not they realized it.

_I've just got to get used to it. Maybe if I open up more, they'll grow to consider me a friend and not a Princess._

She gripped the flightstick tightly and glanced at the A-Wing's sensor board to check her position. Kitsy Reaffe, her wingmate, was barely a half klick off Loreli's starboard s-foil, right where she was supposed to be. Which meant that Loreli was where _she_ was supposed to be.

_So far so good._

Captain Bynuard had personally taught her to fly in an Xj71 when she was barely twelve years old. Not only had she picked up on things quickly, but her love for flying had also been born the second she'd taken control of the fighter.

That was part of the reason Loreli had insisted that her mother allow her to fight alongside the Galactic Alliance. While Loreli didn't exactly have a _love_ for fighting, her mother had summed up her daughter's feelings accurately by saying that Loreli hated to sit by idly.

The princess hated to be inactive.

_Stop it,_ she thought, shaking her head. She was thinking too much, getting distracted too easily.

They had drawn nearly level with the behemoth of a cruiser, which had been hollowed by Vong plasma fire. The durasteel hulk spun at an almost imperceptible rate – a moving mountain in space, drawn ever so gradually towards Naboo by the planet's considerable gravity.

Surrounding the metal planetoid were countless satellites and moons – cargo containers, freight vessels, broken snubfighters. All blackened and decommissioned.

They soared up what had once been the port bow of the cruiser, and the light of Naboo's star painted A-Wing shadows on the darkened metal.

Lieutenant Roulvecksch's snarl came across the comm: "Okay, Three-Flight. Light 'em up."

Ahead and to Loreli's left, the Shistavanen's A-Wing spat red lasers into the hollowed hulk of a drifting container. The lasers chewed holes easily in the unshielded metal flesh and sent the fried remains careening off into the velvety background of space.

Sella, his wingmate, opened fire simultaneously on a nearby freighter.

"Let's do this, Twelve," Loreli said softly into the comm.

"I'm with you, Eleven," Kitsy replied eagerly.

Thumbing the firing stud, Loreli dropped the aiming cross–hairs onto another container in her path. Keeping the A-Wing's belly close to the hollowed cruiser, the Princess waited until the numbers on the HUD had scrolled down to within two klicks, and then she hit the trigger.

Scarlet bolts lanced easily through the container's hull, and to her surprise, it erupted into an expanding fireball.

_The engines were still inside,_ she thought bemusedly.

"Nice shooting, Eleven," Roulvecksch praised. "Stay tight with us."

Loreli allowed a small smile as she nudged her flightstick to bring the A-Wing closer to her wingmates'.

As Kitsy opened fire on a freighter, Loreli busied herself with the chewed–out nose of an X-Wing. Slightly ahead of them, Lieutenant Roulvecksch and Sella tackled a much larger chunk of a cruiser, blasting away until the metal superheated and flared out of existence.

Within three minutes, they had flown completely through the debris field and were turning around to rendezvous with the rest of the squadron.

Behind the _Kiss of Life _was the multicolored sphere of Naboo. It was even more beautiful from space than on the ground. The silver daggers that were the Alliance cruisers stood out vividly against the planetoid, crisscrossing a skyline that had not seen battle in almost a century.

Cane's snarl brought Loreli back to the present again. "Leader? Nine. Our run has been completed. Do we hold here or head back to _Kiss_?"

Commander Corsurge's voice crackled back immediately. "Affirmative, Nine. Dock your fighters and head straight for pilot debriefing. The rest of the squadron will be along shortly."

"Understood, Sir." Cane turned the A-Wing and sped off in the direction of the Mon Cal cruiser. Sella stayed close to the Shistavanen's starboard s-foil, and Loreli and Kitsy followed close behind them.

"Excellent hunting, Three-Flight," Cane praised as Commander Corsurge gave Two-Flight the go–ahead. "Ten, Twelve, not bad for a first run."

"I'm _full_ of surprises," Sella returned roguishly.

"Thanks, Nine," Kisty replied meekly.

"And congratulations to you as well, Eleven," Cane said, addressing Loreli directly. "The second–place score goes to the quietest member of Green Squadron.

Loreli smiled. "We'll see how well it holds up after the others have flown the course, Nine."

"Quiet _and_ modest," Cane muttered gruffly. Static rendered his words almost imperceptible. "Now _that's_ a woman."

The comment was sexist, but it made them all laugh.

They docked successfully minutes later, and Loreli was proud of the way she bulls–eyed the landing pad with her A-Wing.

At first she'd been concerned with the snubfighter, because the Xj71s had been significantly more streamlined – and bigger. But she had quickly grown to appreciate the A-Wing's superior handling and maneuverability, not to mention its greater firepower and engineering.

She slapped the cockpit release and waited for it to rise up all the way.

Shrugging off her restraining belts, she got to her feet and removed her flight helmet. Out of habit, she shook loose her dark brown hair to free it.

Plaited into a braid that hung down to the small of her back, her hair had always been a nuisance for her. Strands were sticking out in all directions and clung painfully to her helmet as she pulled it off. Her mother would be mortified if she were to cut her hair, but if Loreli was going to be a part of the squadron, her hair couldn't become a problem.

_Besides, it will always grow back. It's a small sacrifice to be made._

She climbed out of the cockpit and across the port s-foil, then down the service ladder a crewmanput into place for her.

Her female wingmen met her there, their faces flushed with excitement.

Sella had a _lekku_ – fleshy tentacles, or braintail – looped around Kitsy's shoulders as the pair approached, and they both were babbling excitedly about what they seemed to think had been their best training run yet.

Kitsy was small and shy, somehow out of place in her green flightsuit, but her eyes were mature beyond her years. Perhaps it had come from watching the Vong destroy her home planet, or maybe there were other experiences marring her past that Loreli did not know of. At any rate, the girl was a more than able wingman despite her youth.

Sella was beautiful, even for a Twi'lek. Her flesh was a cream color close to human skin tone, and her eyes were a liquid fiery orange. Every inch of each _lekku_ was tattooed with various symbols, and her teeth were razor sharp. Her smile, however, held no signs of threat – aside from friendly competition.

"Our scores were _excellent_!" she exclaimed, ruffling Kitsy's already mussed hair. "All of us above 2000!"

Loreli smiled in return and said nothing.

A moment later, Lieutenant Roulvecksch joined them. The three women quickly snapped salutes, but the wolfman waved them away with a furry paw.

"At ease," he ordered, crinkling his snout into a fair impression of a human smile. "Again, excellent performances. All three of you have impressed me, especially considering your lack of experience. You've all come a long way in a very short time."

Sella's orange eyes narrowed dangerously. "We're not green, Lieutenant. We've flown snubfighters before."

Cane's smile grew wider. They could see all of his canine teeth. "This is certainly true for _you_, Ms. Ruvek'astack."

The Twi'lek shot Loreli and Kitsy looks of intrigue and not a little annoyance. "You mean to tell me that Princess d'Accorde scored higher than me and has never flown in combat before?"

Kitsy blushed, and Loreli smiled faintly.

"I just got lucky," the Princess said quietly.

All three of her wingmates were silent for a moment, surprised by the uncommon response.

Finally, Sella folded her arms around her belly. "Are you sure you're a princess?" she asked suspiciously, brusquely shattering the awkward silence. "The only princesses _I've _ever interacted with have been bitches and snobs."

Her blunt speech made Loreli smile. "You're free to check my records, Sella – or you can take Commander Corsurge at his word. Please just call me Loreli, though."

"Fine," Sella snapped, and her orange yes had narrowed again. "Be warned, _Loreli_: if you challenge my sim standings again, I'll be forced to teach you a lesson – Princess or not."

Kitsy laughed, a malicious gleam in her youthful eyes.

"Watch it, Sella," she said, giving the Twi'lek woman a nudge with her elbow. In person, her voice was sweet and mellow – like her personality, and Loreli suddenly couldn't picture her in a snubfighter. "Loreli could easily kick your ass into next week, I think!"

Cane barked a harsh laugh before Sella could riposte, displaying his razor teeth again. "For now, Ms. Reaffe, let's impress Commander Corsurge by being down in pilot debriefing before he has to ask us twice."

He swept an arm in the general direction of the turbolift. "After you, ladies."

All four of them exited the hangar together – jesting, teasing, and laughing.


	8. Chapter: 7

**Chapter: 7

* * *

**

The comlink lying on the bedside table buzzed.

Groggily, Leroy Corsurge rolled over and propped himself on his elbow, using his free hand to grab the communicator.

The cabin was dark, illuminated only by the emergency light mounted on the bulkhead across the room. The _Kiss's_ engines hummed quietly in a lulling sort of rhythm: they were still orbiting Naboo, and the Vong attack had not yet come.

The air was chill, causing Leroy to shiver as he fumbled in the dark with the comlink and brought it to his lips. "Yeah?" he grunted.

"Commander Corsurge?" It was General Hoffman: his growl of a voice was distinctive, even in miniature. Somehow, the starfighter director didn't sound exhausted, despite the late hour.

_He probably hasn't slept in years._

"Yes, sir," Leroy said, sitting up abruptly and putting his feet on the ground.

"Report to the debriefing room immediately," the General ordered. "Bring your XO. We've picked up Vong activity within range of the fleet. Details are forthcoming."

Leroy felt his heart throb into action. He was on his feet in an instant, grabbing his flightsuit from the chair beside his bed and stepping into it. "I'm on my way, sir."

Hoffman clicked off his end of the comm, so Leroy tossed the communicator onto his bed and devoted his full attention to dressing.

It couldn't be the full strike force they'd picked up, he rationalized – otherwise, the fleet would have gone to red alert. Dif Scaur's intelligence teams had probably isolated the Vong forward party, most likely in the distant ring of asteroids hanging like a curtain between Umgul and Naboo. It would have been easy to disguise coralskippers and other organic scouting vessels amongst the belt, as it was close enough for sensor–pulse relays. Or whatever it was that they used for scouting.

_Not too keen on taking the Greens into an asteroid belt just yet, but if it means taking out the Vong's eyes…_

It wouldn't be definitive, considering the Vong presence across half the galaxy and their ever–growing numbers, but at least it would stall them long enough for Palleon and the Imperial remnants to reach Rodia.

Ten minutes later, Leroy and Dano were striding purposefully into the _Kiss's _main debriefing room below the observation deck. As they passed through the white double doors, General Hoffman and Colonel Gavin Darklighter of Rogue Squadron turned from the holoprojector to meet them. There were several other people in the room whom Leroy did not recognize, although the lights had been dimmed for the holograph, which greatly reduced his vision.

Both he and Dano snapped to attention to salute their superiors.

Hoffman doffed his hand mildly. "At ease. I'm certain you've met Colonel Darklighter before, Commander Corsurge?"

Leroy nodded at Gavin respectfully. "We've never been formally introduced, but we've been in the same room before."

The Colonel smiled easily. His boyish face was shadowed in the darkness, but his features were still visible. The stretching conflict had taken the youth out of his eyes; that, plus the full beard he now wore, only added to the weary lines just beginning to crease his face.

"Shall we?" he asked, indicating the holoprojector.

Leroy and Dano joined them beside the machine and watched as the image of Naboo shrank to the size of a tennis ball, allowing for the inclusion of Umgul, the asteroid belt, Rodia, a small corner of Bothan space, and the very edge of Tatooine – Vick's home planet. The Corellian Run, a commonly charted pathway used exclusively for trading purposes and smuggling, cut an imaginary tangent through the edge of the sphere.

Hoffman tapped a button on the projector, the image cut back in to Umgul, and Leroy's suspicion was confirmed.

"It could be nothing," the General began abruptly, voicing the possible to make way for the probable. "Sensor shadow from the asteroid belt – uncommon movement. Mr. Scaur's teams have concluded that there is a ninety-seven percent possibility that an advanced scout party of Vong skips has made the belt a temporary base. They are using the asteroids to shield themselves from our sensors and visual reconnaissance. Obviously, they are attempting to isolate fixed positions on our cruisers to better coordinate their attack."

He indicated Colonel Darklighter. "Rogue Leader has volunteered to take his squad into the asteroid field to root out the Vong, and we thought it would be a good on–the–job training exercise for your Greens. Is this acceptable to you, Commander?"

Leroy glanced at Dano, whose face was impassive, then nodded to the General. "Yes, Sir. What's our DT?"

Colonel Darklighter glanced at his chrono. "Twenty minutes?"

Leroy came to attention and felt Dano do the same behind him. "Twenty minutes, Sir."

"Meet you at Umgul," Gavin said with a grim smile.

* * *

Vick Fleen felt his heart flutter as he mounted the service ladder to his A-Wing snubfighter.

Commander Corsurge's debriefing had indeed been brief, leaving Vick with more questions that he wanted to acknowledge, but that were begging to be asked. He was understandably nervous – not quite fearful, but definitely anxious.

This was going to be his first combat mission.

This was going to be his first combat mission against the _Vong_.

As he tugged on his flight helmet with nervous abandon, Farvebacca woofed encouragingly into the comm.

Vick turned and found the Wookiee thirty feet across the way, already encased in his A-Wing cockpit, and waved a gloved hand at the massive creature in gratitude. "Thanks, Farve."

The Wookiee's expression would have been unreadable to most – especially at their distance – but Vick could see the brotherly smile curling Farve's black lips. From deep within the forest of matted fur, the Wookiee's dark eyes were sparkling with his own nervousness; his hunter instincts had already filled him with adrenaline.

_Hopefully he doesn't get claustrophobic all of a sudden,_ Vick thought as he strapped himself into the command couch. Everything on the A-Wing's instrument panels checked out green, so he kicked the engine to life and set his booted feet on the steering rudders.

Dano Ven's voice: "Greens, kick in the overdrive. We've got a microjump to make in order to beat the Rogues to Umgul, so buckle up."

Commander Corsurge: "Hangar Control, this is Green Leader requesting permission to depart."

"Request acknowledged," the voice returned. "Happy hunting, Commander."

Vick threw a lever on the instrument panel and felt his ears pop as the transparisteel cockpit sealed itself around him. The noises of the hangar died instantly, leaving him with only the whine of his engines warming up and the sound of his own breathing.

_Cool it, boy – you can do this._

The control stick vibrated beneath his touch, and he watched in apprehension as the hangar doors split to reveal the inky blackness of space, speckled with distant stars.

Commander Corsurge's A-Wing rose slowly off the landing pad, accompanied by Captain Ven's, Seth Joust's, and Rusty Yuvahak's. As One-Flight neatly exited the _Kiss's _hangar, Lieutenant Sketz addressed his Wing.

"Okay, lady, boy, and Wookiee," he said coolly, and Vick watched the Lieutenant's A-Wing rise smoothly into the air, riding its repulsorlift jets. "Let's do this right. Stay cool, watch each other's backs. Two-Flight away, Hangar Control."

"Acknowledged, Green Five."

Vick hit his repulsorlift coils, letting the A-Wing leap from the landing pad, and followed Teneniel out into open space. A glance at his sensor board revealed that Farve was right behind him, matching the rest of Two-Flight move for move.

"Three-Flight is away, Control," Lieutenant Roulvecksch growled as he and his three subordinates cleared the landing bay.

"Okay, Greens," Commander Corsurge said as the rest of the Greens pulled up behind One-Flight. "We've done informal training on coordinated jumps through lightspeed before, but this will be the first time it counts for something. Fortunately, all of you are accomplished pilots and already know how to calculate distances and use your navicomputers, so I have no fear of any of you shooting into nearby stars."

"I'm transmitting the coordinates for the Umgul asteroid belt," Captain Ven said, and a second later the data stream dribbled down Vick's computer readout. "The microjump should take approximately fifteen point eight seconds, and we will revert to normalspace together. Understood?"

There were affirmative murmurs from all around, and then Commander Corsurge gave the order.

Vick threw the hyperdrive lever, and stars elongated around him, streaking by like comets, but swirling and blending together into a never ending tunnel of pure white light. Above and beside his A-Wing, the other three pilots of Two-Flight held steady courses, brilliantly illuminated by the passing stars.

Communication was not hindered during lightspeed, but no one said anything, and Vick didn't want to be the one to start a conversation. Instead, he quickly read through the sparse debrief information Corsurge had transmitted to them all before takeoff. It was pretty much just a snoop and scoot mission – unless, of course, they found some skips.

Vick felt his heart leap nervously at the thought.

Skips. They'd only simmed against them once or twice – not enough for him to feel truly confident combating them.

_Five… four… three…_

His navicomputer beeped and Commander Corsurge said, "Greens, revert to sublight engines."

Space resolved itself into star–dappled blackness once more as Vick disengaged the hyperdrive. Umgul continued to grow at an alarming rate, then resolved itself into a steady, massive orb hanging three hundred klicks from the Greens' entry vector. The planet's murky atmosphere was smeared with cloud and smog, and space surrounding it was full of uncountable grey and brown chunks: the asteroid field.

And there, hovering like silent birds of prey, the twelve X-Wing snubfighters of Rogue Squadron, silhouetted by the huge planet. Their red trim and twelve–point insignias were distinctive, and Vick felt a shiver of awe crawl up his spine.

They were in the presences of legends.

"Welcome to Umgul space, Green Squadron," said Gavin Darklighter genially.

"Thank you, Sir," Commander Corsurge returned. "All quiet?"

"Currently," the Colonel reported. "Sensors are reading next to no air traffic from Umgul, and we've got nothing but asteroids in the belt itself. Most likely the Vong have set their skips down on larger chunks to hide from us."

_Or to lay in ambush,_ Vick thought.

"Everyone accounted for?" Dano asked.

Vick checked his sensor board for confirmation, and got it reinforced when Lieutenants Sketz and Roulvecksh radioed in their affirmatives.

Corsurge: "Greens, dial down inertial compensators to ninety-seven percent unless you absolutely require a more tactile feel of your fighter. I don't want anyone blacking out in the asteroid field – I need all eyes alert."

"And everybody alive," Dano added.

"It's gonna get choppy," Colonel Darklighter assured them. "Rogues, you heard the Commander. Fix your compensators and set cannons to stutter–fire settings. One-Flight, let's take the lead. Don't straggle, Greens."

"Roger that, Colonel," Corsurge replied.

They hovered for a minute, watching as Rogue Squadron throttled up and entered the maelstrom that was the asteroid field. The flawless precision of the elite pilots was impressive enough to render Vick speechless, and he immediately questioned Commander Corsurge's wisdom in ever including him – a skinny, inexperienced mechanic from Tatooine – on the Green Squadron roster.

But he didn't have time to reflect on his lack of experience.

"One-Flight, let's take the squad in," Corsurge ordered suddenly, and Vick watched as those four A-Wings shot ahead of the squadron. Captain Ven was immediately alongside of the Commander, followed closely by Seth and his wingmate, Rusty.

Lieutenant Sketz's voice crackled over the comm a half–second later: "Two-Flight, throttle up and away we go."

Vick swallowed hard, ramping up his thrusters, and kept his A-Wing close to Farve's as they descended into the rocky hell of the asteroid belt. Three-Flight was close behind.

At first, it was all he could do to breathe. Mottled blurs of rock fragments flew in all directions, enough to make the A-Wing's collision alarms flare to life again and again, only to die within seconds of erupting. He was gripping the stick tightly, flying jerkily, eyes wide and staring – trying to watch both his sensor board and the real thing simultaneously.

Farvebacca whined suddenly, sensing Vick's distress. _You're fine._

Vick could feel a thin smile touching his lips, but felt very distant from that emotion.

Ahead, he saw the Rogues flying with neat precision, their s-foils still closed in cruise position. Their flights split evenly to dodge larger chunks of asteroids, but wingmates never abandoned their fellows. They were weaving a secure net for the Greens to follow – blazing the field to prepare the way for the less experienced squadron.

"Broaden sensor sweep," Colonel Darklighter ordered. "If they're here, we'll find them."

"Acknowledged, Rogue Leader," Commander Corsurge said. "Widen the scope, Greens."

There was nothing – just flying rock and clay. Perhaps out of intimidation, the Greens maintained unusual comm silence. Not even Captain Ven had any quips to offer, although Vick thought of a few the XO could use later on.

Two-Flight was riding the back of a huge asteroid, rising above the topmost ridge to view Umgul once again, when it happened.

Vick had grown much more comfortable due to the lack of any activity. He had loosened his grip on the flightstick, was flying much more naturally, and had begun scanning out the viewport instead of remaining fixated on the sensor board. There was no sense studying the countless blips, after all – most of the asteroids were big enough to register as neutral bodies on the sensor readout, and therefore muddied any potential of spotting the skips via sensors alone.

The rocky planetoid faded away beneath Two-Flight, and then open space was beneath them. Ahead, smaller debris tumbled listlessly, stern and silent, standing out against the swirling grey clouds coating Umgul's atmosphere.

There was a mottled green and tan boulder less than three klicks off of Vick's starboard – just ahead of Farve's A-Wing.

Out of curiosity – suspicion was more likely – Vick painted it with his sensors directly. His targeting computer displayed a rough sketch of the asteroid, which was composed primarily of calcium and crude iron deposits, but further down in the rock's core there were significant amounts of copper.

He looked back at it directly, just in time to see the smaller rock _behind_ it swivel much faster than an inanimate asteroid could have managed, with much more fluidity and regular control. And there was a reddish, pulsing volcano at the nose, puckering as though –

Vick reacted without thinking. He hit the trigger.

The bolts, already set to stutter–fire, lanced out towards the skip, striking the pink plasma launcher before the ship's dovin basal could compensate. There was a quick flare of liquid fire before the vacuum of space extinguished the blaze –

And all around them, asteroids came to life –

"_Skips_!" Vick shouted into the comm, squeezing his trigger until his target detonated with a concussive explosion, sending real asteroids around it careening off in different directions.

Colonel Darklighter: "S-foils to attack position, Rogue Group. Throttles to full –"

"Well done, Seven," Commander Corsurge praised, without any real emotion. "Greens, fire at will, and watch each other's backs! Follow the Rogues."

And the asteroid field erupted. Laser and plasma fire crisscrossed, lighting the blackness with flashes of red and orange. The Rogues were quick to join the attack, and the Greens followed immediately behind, per Corsurge's orders.

"Two-Flight, stay close," Lieutenant Sketz ordered. His voice was calm, but tight. "Seven, you can take point. Congrats on obtaining Green Squadron's first official kill."

Vick felt a swell of pride in his chest, but didn't let it distract him. "Thanks, Five," he said. "Eight? Stay close with me, bro."

_I need you._

Farve mumbled an affirmative, and they dove together, with Lieutenant Sketz and Teneniel close behind.

It was much more complicated flying now. The skips blended with the asteroids indefinitely, and they were _everywhere_ – too many to simply be an advanced scout party. But there was no time to worry about their true purposes just now.

Roll, dodge, weave, _fire_ –

"Three confirms a kill," Seth said suddenly, drawing Vick's gaze momentarily.

The Corellian's A-Wing was rising over an exploding asteroid – a skip – flanked by Rusty and one of the Rogues.

"Nice shooting," the Rogue – Captain Kral Nevil, a Quarren – praised.

"Seven, stay close," Lieutenant Sketz said suddenly, snapping Vick back to Two-Flight's position. "You're drifting."

"Apologies," Vick said, mentally berating himself. "Should I switch to Two-Flight frequency, sir?"

"Negative, Seven," Sketz returned. "You've gotta learn to shut out chatter."

"Cover me, boys," Teneniel interrupted calmly. "I've got a tail."

Vick swallowed sharply, craning his neck to see out the viewport just above his A-Wing. Teneniel was there, flanking Lieutenant Sketz, rising and falling in an A-Wing bob maneuver, but the skip behind her was gaining, matching her move for move.

"Eight, let's get him," Vick said, rolling the A-Wing to starboard to avoid a large chunk of rock. As Farve growled his consent, they both reduced thrust to let wingmate and hostile pass them, then rose together to join the pursuit.

Just as they dropped in on the skip's tail, it opened fire. Vick almost shouted a warning to Teneniel, but knew that the Dathomiri pilot was much more alert than he was, with the Force as her ally. And she would most likely view any words of caution as degrading anyway.

She dipped her A-Wing at precisely the right moment, letting the first blasts of plasma overshoot her fighter. Instead of catching her hull, the gob of molten rock struck a cruiser–sized asteroid in Two-Flight's path. The sizzling plasma immediately began burning through the thick rock, caving in its craggy face –

The next blast caught Teneniel's shields, but her deflectors held strong, flashing brilliantly beneath the onslaught that would otherwise have melted her ion drives.

Farve barked, informing his wingmates that he had the shot. The Wookiee triggered a double burst of fire, raking the skip's dully shaded hull with the stunted lasers. The dovin basal snagged the last few bolts, bending the flickering energy into nothingness, but as Vick added his own fire, the skip's hull began to collapse.

And then it exploded, sending superheated chunks of coral spinning off into the asteroid field.

"Thanks," Teneniel radioed. "Good shooting."

"We're not safe yet," Lieutenant Sketz commented as plasma filled the gap between his A-Wing and the rest of Two-Flight. "High and starboard – watch yourselves."

Vick's threat display lit up, so he rolled, watching his sensors carefully for any asteroids that might be in his path. The skip's shots sizzled across his shields, but the generators immediately began replenishing his deflectors' strength. The glancing shots had done no real damage –

"I'll pick him up," Sketz told his group. "I'd appreciate some cover, Six. Don't leave me naked."

"Roger that, Sir," Teneniel said, cutting across Vick's flight path and a raining hail of plasma mixed with asteroid fragments. Her tone had taken on full confidence, now that the fight had been joined. "You don't like being naked, Lieutenant?"

"Only if you're there to see it, Six," Sketz returned. Before Teneniel could shoot anything back at him, the Lieutenant was firing into the skip's fore as the vessel rocketed headlong at them.

The black sphere of nothingness – darker than space – rose to protect the skip's hull, swallowing the majority of Led's shots, and the few that did get threw did nothing but scar the yorik coral –

"Mine," Teneniel said, adding her fire to Sketz's. The red bolts provided too much for the dovin basal to swallow, and the gravity vortex began to collapse, allowing more shots to sneak through –

And the skip pilot twisted his ship to avoid their fire, only to slam headlong into an asteroid at least five times the skip's size. There was a flash as oxygen escaped the smashed hull, but nothing as dramatic as an explosion. Wrecked pieces of the coralskipper tumbled off in all directions.

"Who gets credit?" Teneniel asked.

"Company," Vick announced tersely, alerted to the three advancing skips by the furious screeching of his threat display.

"Two-Flight, split," Lieutenant Sketz ordered sharply. "Seven, Eight, try and draw at least one of them away. We'll take them separately."

"As ordered," Vick replied, and he and Farve rocketed towards Umgul while Sketz and Teneniel tore away in the opposite direction – back towards the distant Naboo.

Judging by the sensor blips – highlighted as red hostiles – Vick saw that two of the skips had given them pursuit, leaving only one for the Lieutenant and the Jedi to take care of. Somehow, it seemed as though it should have been the other way around, but he and the Wookiee could handle two.

"One each," he told Farve. "Stay alive, wouldja?"

A confident growl: _Return the favor._

"Roger that," Vick replied, peeling away from his friend and brother. He checked his sensors, saw that one of the skips had indeed chosen to pursue him, and fixated his attention on the rocky space ahead of him.

_Time to go for a ride._

There was no room for mistakes: despite the fact that there were twenty-three other pilots in close proximity, Vick was on his own.

He dove and wove, spinning and climbing in the hopes that the skip would collide with an asteroid, or perhaps even lose interest. But the Vong was good, in tune with his surroundings, and not about to let prey escape. It was warrior's honor, and the Vong were obsessed with honor and glory.

Vick's flight had taken him close enough to begin feeling the pull of Umgul's gravity for real. He adjusted the inertial compensator by one degree, making a mental note to readjust it on the return to the heart of the asteroid field, and then rocketed into a tight turn around a cluster of spinning rock.

Blackness crept into the edges of his vision – more than just space outside his cockpit – and managed to catch a glimpse of the skip as it entered the same maneuver. The yorik coral actually began to brighten as the skip grazed Umgul's atmosphere, but then it was on his tail again – more determined than ever.

"Sithspit," Vick muttered. Then he winced as plasma exploded against his rear shields and his HUD screeched a warning. He shifted shield strength to aft, then dove.

A certain red blip on the sensor followed –

– and then was gone, disappeared from the board entirely.

"Picked up your man, Green Seven," a voice said, and it took Vick a moment to recognize Leth Liav, a Rogue. She was a Sullustan, if he recalled.

Her X-Wing was beside him as Vick climbed to reorient himself on the dogfight. "Thanks, Rogue Eight," he radioed back as she rejoined her wingmate. "I appreciate the save."

"My pleasure, Seven."

A familiar voice came through: "Two-Flight, this is Lieutenant Sketz. Rendezvous at oh-nine-seven. Are we all accounted for?"

"I'm fine," Vick said immediately, and both Farve and Teneniel voiced similar statuses. No more than three klicks away, Vick saw the flashes and twinkles at the center of the dogfight, the heart of the asteroid belt – laserfire, explosions, snubfighters, and rock.

An A-Wing rose on Vick's port side – Farvebacca. His fighter had black streaks on its port s-foil, either from a plasma graze or a partial collision. Ahead, Two-Flight had oriented on a massive asteroid, which outsized its fellows by a considerable amount. The two brothers soared through the debris side–by–side, relishing a moment to relax as no opposition confronted them.

As the asteroid spun lazily, filling his cockpit, Vick caught a glimpse of a strange growth on the dusty surface, like a pod or an egg that had been thrust into the rocky flesh. He frowned, staring at it intently as it spun out of view, then reappeared mere seconds later – larger, pulsating with some sort of inner energy.

"Five, this is Seven," he said without realizing he had spoken. He kept his eyes on his sensor readout, but at this distance he got nothing definitive. "I've got a strange… _thing_ on my sensors. Unidentified substance, but I'm positive it's Vong. Permission to investigate?"

"Take a pass, Seven, but make it _fast_," Sketz ordered. "The fight isn't waiting for us. Eight, watch his ass, and don't either of you engage without backup."

Farve barked an affirmative, then followed Vick as he rocketed past Teneniel and Lieutenant Sketz towards the strange hub on the planetoid. They closed the distance together, wincing at the random chatter filtering across the comm, not to mention the furious explosions of plasma lighting up space on all sides.

Dano's voice: "Got one."

Seth: "Nice shot, Sir. Stay with me, Four."

Rusty: "Right behind you, Three."

Sella Ruvek'astack: "Princess, cover me would ya?"

Vick shut them out, remembering Lieutenant Sketz's admonition to tune out unwanted distractions, and reoriented his focus on the flyby. He drifted the A-Wing to starboard, coming around the far side of the asteroid as the growth spun into the reflected light of Umgul. Closer now, he could see the tendrils of a gooey substance anchoring the pod to the meteor's surface.

Sensors still gave him nothing.

"Eight, let's go in closer," he said, vectoring the A-Wing even as he spoke. "We've gotta find out what this thing is."

Farve woofed agreeably, if cautionary, and they descended together.

The asteroid was a planet for all intents and purposes – large enough to house a colony, a freighter, even a Mon Calamari cruiser. Black and grey flesh glittered with calcite, illuminated by Umgul's sun, draped in the A-Wings' skittering shadows as Vick and Farve closed the distance between them and the pod.

As they swept by it, Vick craned his neck, watching directly out the port side of his cockpit. At this angle, he got a direct look straight down the tube–like pod – the pulsating, fleshy depths of the living transport. The tube was like a drill, he saw, and it had bored a hole directly into the heart of the asteroid. And in the depths, it had deposited…

Vick felt the blood drain from his face.

He quickly checked the datafeed scrolling across his targeting computer, and his worst fear was confirmed.

"Damn," he whispered, for his voice had vanished.

Over the comm, he heard Farve mumbling his own shock as they spun around the asteroid – counter to its rotation – and sped back to rendezvous with Two-Flight. The dogfight was still raging up ahead, but in the light of their discovery, it was nothing but a charade and a stall.

Clearing his throat, Vick addressed the entirety of the two squadrons: "Rogue Group, Green Group, this is Green Seven. Our problems just got a whole lot worse."

"How so?" Colonel Darklighter came back instantly.

"Report, Seven," Commander Corsurge ordered, his voice somewhat more tense than Rogue Leader's had been.

Vick swallowed hard. "Sir, we've got a yammosk."


End file.
